


Under a Cherry Tree

by edy



Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anxiety, Depression, First Kiss, First Time, Lack of Communication, M/M, Minor Violence, Moving In Together, Painplay, Recovery, Recreational Drug Use, Relationship Study, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-01
Updated: 2016-08-05
Packaged: 2018-07-28 18:32:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 57,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7652176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/edy/pseuds/edy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They meet at a New Year's Eve party.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Exhibit A

**Author's Note:**

> inspiration: "the bed song" by amanda palmer and the grand theft orchestra
> 
> translation into русский available: [Under a Cherry Tree](https://ficbook.net/readfic/5610402) by [тушенка_из_душонки](https://ficbook.net/authors/1709827)
> 
> -
> 
> this thing is _long_ , but if you followed my progress on tumblr, you should know i have the whole thing written already. i might update tomorrow. or the day after tomorrow. every other day. sounds like a plan.

He sits next to Josh, the hem of his sweatshirt dragging across his thighs. Gray, stained, it's comfortable to no one but him. Holes are in the elbows, dark skin showing, pink on the pointed edges, from use, from leaning on hardwood floor for hours. Josh saw him an hour or so ago, stretched out on his stomach, an empty can of beer nearby. His thumb imprint was on the side, though the reason wasn't obvious. He began to shout not long after, a single yellow card in his hand as he declared, " _Uno_ _!_ "

Josh went around him, stepping over legs and alcohol in cans and bottles and red cups. With no destination in sight, Josh's feet carried him upstairs. He dropped on a bed, dropped on three bodies, and he dropped onto the carpet, reverting to the stage of crawling to scurry from the room.

Another bedroom was across the hall, and this one wasn't already occupied with a couple on the bed. It was home to a small cage, a gray rodent running from one end to the next. Its black eyes blinked, and its pink nose twitched, and Josh sat there and watched it.

That's where he finds Josh. Gently, with shaking hands, he sits on his legs, his sweatshirt big and the bottoms of his shoes muddy. His hair is swept back from the wind, and frost coats his long lashes. He had been outside, his friends dragging him, pockets full of cigarettes. He smells of it, too, thick, heavy, lips chapped. His lips are chapped. He's chewing on them, leaning in to squint at the cage. "Is that a rat?"

"Yeah," Josh says. "I mean, it's definitely not a mouse."

"Definitely not a mouse." He peels back layer upon layer of skin from his bottom lip. Josh watches the blood pool, and then Josh watches his tongue swipe it away. It vanishes after a swallow, only to reappear seconds later. Josh understands that pain. He was like that before the evening started—his victim the inside of his cheek. It is still sore, but he still pokes it with his tongue.

"Look at it!" he says, pointing at the rat jumping onto its wheel. It runs, the wheel spinning. He laughs, his finger going into his mouth to pick at the nail. Laughter continues to escape despite the chewing.

Josh smiles. He laughs with him, arm coming around to hug a knee to his chest. "Funny thing, yeah?"

"Yeah." He's nodding, sticking his hand between his calf and thigh muscle. It's an attempt to stop chewing on his nails, but Josh has seen it used to keep from doing too many hand gestures when talking. "This your place?" he asks.

"Not my place."

"Well, you're not drinking." His eyebrows draw together.

"Not big on that."

"Oh. I drink here and there." For good measure, he hiccups. Josh smiles. "I stopped before I, I, uh, I got too… y'know."

"I know."

They leave the rat when two girls walk into the room, their jeans undone and their lips formed to one. Josh closes the door. "Do you smoke?" Josh hears behind him, the voice timid, afraid of rejection. Josh turns, staring at him and those hands of his, turning, itching, wringing. "Or are you not big on that either?"

"I smoke a little."

He takes Josh onto the back porch, where he had been before, no doubt. The steps groan beneath their weight, their knees knocking against the other as they sit. He's on Josh's left, digging out the cigarettes from his back pocket, the lighter coming with it. "We could share one?" he suggests, pulling out a single cigarette and showing it to Josh. "You can light it."

"Thanks, man." Josh takes the cigarette and the lighter, and soon they have a nice pile of ash growing between them as they pass the cigarette back and forth, lighting another from the tip of the last. They sit close, more than just their knees touching. Josh discovers his name is Tyler, and Tyler doesn't think any of his friends would care if he died.

"They haven't even noticed I'm gone," he says, a palm rubbing his arm, warming it up—miserably. Tyler is shivering, his body turned toward Josh. "No text, no call, and I _drove them here_. Wouldn't they care where their ride went?"

Josh is quiet, drawing out and lighting the last cigarette from Tyler's pack. He gives it to Tyler, finishing the one in his mouth with a deep inhale. "Maybe they're still here."

"And doing what?" Tyler sucks on the new cigarette, his feet tilting onto their toes as he fights to keep warm. His legs bounce. "Oh, right, chicks or something."

"You've also been drinking."

Tyler pauses, his jaw working. "Didn't even think about that."

"Don't really seem like you're drunk." Josh wishes he had gloves. "Buzzed?"

"Maybe." Tyler's hands are pink. Everything about him is pink, even the snow that falls. It lands on his cheeks, the tip of his nose. Like a bad sunburn, it spans his skin and hurts to the touch. Tyler looks ahead, the cigarette between two fingers, the smoke drifting, flowing, his eyes staring far ahead. "Did you come with anyone?"

Josh shrugs. "Not really? My friend invited me. Ended up not showing up."

"Sucks."

"It's not too bad. I mean, I met you." It's out before Josh can process it. It's out, and it's embarrassing, and he wants to take it back. Josh thinks about every bad thing he's said in his life at that moment, and all the possible ways the conversations could have turned if he had just kept his mouth shut. He closes his eyes in hopes by the time he opens them, Tyler is long gone.

But Tyler is here. And Tyler is smiling. "You sure you haven't drunk anything?" His eyes are still on something Josh can't see. "No way you think I'm cool."

Josh grins, feeling small as he pulls a leg to his chest. "Um, yes way?"

Tyler looks at Josh, the frost practically illuminating him. Josh's heart skips a beat. It's stupid. Tyler doesn't think so; he's scooting closer to Josh, pressing his cheek to Josh's shoulder. Tyler is freezing. He sucks on the cigarette, finishes it. "Staying the night?"

There's singing behind them. Loud, it shakes windows and sends shivers down spines, haunting almost. Josh instinctively wraps his arm around Tyler's waist. The sweatshirt is huge, pillowing at Tyler's hips. It isn't as uncomfortable as once thought. More holes are in the back, tiny ones, a huge one in the armpit. Josh hugs Tyler and feels the sweatshirt fabric slide against skin. He isn't wearing anything underneath this. Tyler is so cold.

"Might find a room upstairs," Josh says. "You?"

"Apparently need to stay. Buzzed." Tyler doesn't mind Josh's hug. He leans into it, grinding the cigarette butt with the heel of his shoe, getting dried mud everywhere. "Lead the way?"

It doesn't need to be said, but Tyler says it. "Glad it's warm in here." He follows Josh through the kitchen, stealing a bag of potato chips from the counter as they travel up the stairs. "Will we even find an empty room? It's almost midnight."

"No idea."

The first room is full. The second one has the same results.

"Third time's the charm," Tyler says, already munching on the barbecue chips.

Josh peers his head into the room with the rat. It's running on its wheel again. The girls are in bed, lazy kissing, their phones serving as a faint nightlight. "Hey," Josh says, "do you mind if we, like… sleep in the corner? We won't bother you, I swear."

They don't care. "There's a sleeping bag in the closet. Here's a pillow. Well, here's two." This is their house.

Josh and Tyler keep to the corner, as they said they would. A little dry-rotted, the sleeping bag smells old, like going camping. Tyler eats his chips, his head propped by a pillow and leaning against Josh. They're close, pressed tight, the zipper on the side threatening to burst. Tyler insists on keeping it zipped. "It's warmer like this."

On his stomach, hugging the second filthy pillow, Josh is on his phone, scrolling through social media, listening to the singing downstairs. "Do you want me to tell you when it's midnight?"

"Why?"

Josh shrugs.

Tyler shrugs, too. "I think the cheering downstairs will tell me."

"All right."

Tyler rolls up the bag of chips, setting it by Josh's shoes. Tyler's own are further away, the laces still tied. From this angle, it's easier to see how damaged they are; a heel is about to rip off, bound to disconnect completely if Tyler were to jump and land the wrong way, or if he were to run for any number of distance. Josh wants to buy him a new pair of shoes.

Two minutes to midnight, Tyler gives in and lets down the zipper. They get more room, but they're close and _warm_ , and Josh can feel Tyler beneath that sweatshirt. He's not skin and bones. His jeans are tight, his stomach soft. Josh is lean, a beanpole. Tyler turns onto his side, smiling, looking up at Josh through his eyelashes. "Are you going to kiss me?"

Josh digs his teeth into the inside of his cheek, blood coating the side of his tongue. He swallows and shrugs. "Dunno. Will you remember me in the morning?"

Tyler rolls his eyes. "Shut up. Not _that_ drunk."

"How many fingers?" Josh holds up his middle finger.

Gasping, Tyler shoves a laughing Josh. "That's bad!"

He's laughing even when it turns midnight, even when all he can hear is the roar of "Happy New Year!" and even when Tyler kisses him. It's not a good kiss. Their noses bump together, and Tyler's lips are too wet, like he spent an eon suckling on them. Josh makes the most of it, holding onto the side of Tyler's face as they rock back and forth, trying to establish… dominance…? Yeah, Tyler is a _terrible_ kisser.

"What are you doing?" Josh looks down at Tyler, scooting back as he rises onto an elbow, their heights equal.

"Y'know, that's the last thing you should say after someone kisses you."

"Nah, probably the worst thing would be, like, 'oh, yeah, I killed your mom', or 'oh, yeah, I _am_ your mom'."

Tyler shoves him again. "Shut up." His cheeks are pink from something other than chill now. He's avoiding Josh's eye, sliding onto his stomach and picking at his fingernails. "Tasted like blood."

Josh's cheek is sore. "Did you like that?"

Sheepish, Tyler shrugs. From the bed, the girls have moved on from kissing. The bed shifts with their movements. In the cage, the rat races on its wheel.

Josh leans in, kissing Tyler again. Tyler doesn't expect it; he's pulling away immediately until he realizes what it is, and then he's tilting his head and letting Josh seal the space between their mouths once more. This time, it's better. Tyler learns quickly. He tastes like barbecue chips, and Josh wouldn't change it for the world.

Now red, now bumbling more, Tyler's face hides in his pillow, the case missing for reasons left to the imagination. The tips of Tyler's ears are even the color of a small tomato. Josh reaches out, taking Tyler's ear and rubbing it with a thumb. Lightly, he smiles. "Tired already?"

As soon as the words leave, Josh wants to scoop them back in. Not for the first time tonight, and by his track record, it most certainly won't be the last. Tyler visibly stiffens, his shaking head even disjointed. "I have church in the morning."

Judging by the tone of his voice, Josh can assume church isn't the only reason behind Tyler's sudden apprehension. He doesn't prod, doesn't dig, doesn't investigate. He yawns. "Dude, can I come with you?"

The tiniest sliver of Tyler's face shows as he turns his head. "Really?"

Josh nods.

Tyler smiles. "Need to sleep now."

"Totally. I'm down for that." So, Josh settles onto his stomach, his arms underneath him and his forehead pressed to Tyler's clothed shoulder. The sweatshirt is so thick, so heavy, and Tyler is so warm. Josh slides closer, an arm untangling itself in order to press his palm to the small of Tyler's back. "Hm, can I stick my hand up your shirt?"

Tyler is quiet. Then, "Please."

And Josh runs his hand up Tyler's sweatshirt, up his spine, down his spine, up warm skin, down goosebumped skin. "Please," Tyler whispers, more to himself than anything, and Josh moves around, the sleeping bag protesting. Tyler moves with him, the bed mimicking their motions until they stop, Tyler clinging to Josh's chest, and Josh holding Tyler in place with his hand on the small of his back. They're sharing the same pillow, the case on this one having a floral pattern.

Tyler tucks Josh's head beneath his chin. "What are they singing?"

Josh listens, feeling the drag of Tyler's lips across the top of his head, his hair going up Tyler's nose. "Van Halen and…"

"Slayer," Tyler finishes.

"God, why are we here?" Josh sighs, rubbing Tyler's back. "Is that a ukulele…?" Josh mumbles.

"I'd love to play the ukulele." Tyler's words are slurring, sleepy. "Bu' m'hands are sof'."

*

Their alarm clock is the window above their heads opening. It's snowing this morning, the flakes making their home in Tyler's and Josh's hair. A thin coat wraps around each strand, splitting ends, curling ends. Tyler is closer to the window, still in Josh's, now loose, embrace. He wakes first, shaking his head, tugging the edge of the sleeping bag up to his chin. "What did you do?" he asks Josh, accusingly, when he stirs.

"Haven't moved," Josh says, stretching out his arms and running his fingers through his hair. "Yuck."

Tyler hums.

They never find out who opened the window, but they guess it's one of the girls who shared the room with them. Josh and Tyler aren't the only ones waking up now; doors down the hall are creaking open, the television downstairs is turned to some cartoons, and the house smells of food. More people than Josh expected stayed the night, and all have varying degrees of a hangover. Some eyes are black, hair stuck up oddly, clothes wrinkled, and makeup ruined. Tyler is much like them, circles under his eyes, his arms wrapped around himself. Either he drank a lot and was able to hide it from Josh, or he might not be able to handle his alcohol very well. Josh goes with the latter.

The kitchen is packed with twelve or so people, the two girls among them. They're alert, refreshed, wearing cute pajamas and smiles. "We made pancakes!" They're far too cheerful for the rest of them. "And if anybody needs a ride anywhere, let one of us know. We'll be happy to drive you home."

They didn't drink last night. Josh didn't either, and yet he still feels like he slept on a pile of animal bones. He blames it on the sleeping bag, cheap thing, used, not fit for two occupants. Tyler is sluggish, leaning against Josh at every possible opportunity. "Are you fit to drive?" Josh touches Tyler's arm.

Tyler nods. "M'fine. Need some coffee. Do we gotta stay?"

Josh isn't hungry. He shakes his head. Tyler smiles. "Right on."

It's hell outside. They need to sit inside Tyler's car for twenty minutes before they stop shivering. "Didn't see any of my friends there," Tyler says, "so they must have left with someone else." Josh goes through Tyler's glove department, flicking on and off a heavy flashlight. "Did you drive here?" Tyler narrows his eyes. "You said you were supposed to meet your friend here."

"I can't drive," Josh says, "so I walked."

Tyler gasps, eyes wide. "You poor thing."

It's Josh's turn to shove Tyler. "Shut up. Just… take me to church."

"Aye, aye."

"Stop somewhere first," Josh says. "Need to change my clothes."

Tyler's nose wrinkles. "Forgot that was a thing." His car is old, making concerning noises when Tyler presses the brakes. They choose to ignore this. "I'm not very… presentable, am I?"

"Honestly, dude?"

"Honestly, dude."

"Honestly, dude, no."

Tyler pouts, his bottom lip stuck out. "You're right. I really didn't want to… see my parents today."

"You still live with your parents?" Josh asks, fingers tapping along the dashboard. He's leaning forward, elbows, his head on his arms. Neither of them has on seatbelts.

"Yeah," Tyler answers, nervously chewing on his bottom lip. It begins bleeding almost instantly, still tender from the treatment Tyler gave it last night.

"I still live with my parents, too."

That seems to put Tyler at ease, if only for a second, and then he's ripping apart his lip again, his knuckles white as he grips the steering wheel. "My, uh, my parents usually—and my siblings—they usually tend to stay out most of the day when they go to church, yeah? And if I remember correctly from last year, a lotta people showed up, so I think, uh, if I just _told_ them I went… maybe they will believe me?" The car makes that sound, but they pretend not to hear. Tyler looks ahead. "Unless you actually want to go to church."

"What would we do in place of it?" Josh turns his head.

Tyler is red in the face. "I dunno."

Josh tries not to smile, but it's hard. "All right."

Tyler is even redder. "All right."

They're quiet the rest of the way to Tyler's house. By the time they're in the driveway, Tyler is back to a more auspicious color. He's doing his best to not look at Josh, though—at least not directly. He keeps his head bowed, digging out the keys from his pocket and shoving it into the lock. "I'm going to make coffee," he says. "Do you want any?"

"Yeah."

Tyler makes coffee. Josh sits at the table and watches him, his hands on his knees, head tilted as he counts the amount of holes in Tyler's sweatshirt. From this distance, he can't tell how many exactly, as most of them are small and threadbare. Josh thinks unsavory thoughts and rubs his face.

"Here."

It's unspoken. With a single look at each other, they grab their respective mugs and see who can finish their coffee first. Tyler wins. "I feel like a new person." He looks better already, the smile on his face lively and contagious. "You want to, uh… go to my room?"

Josh follows Tyler up the stairs. "You're not that subtle."

"Who said I was trying to be subtle?"

"Come on, man."

Tyler sits on his bed, toeing off his shoes. Josh stands in front of him, catching the sight of trophies on shelves, awards, achievements. Tyler wants his attention elsewhere, his hands running along Josh's waist, down to his hips, the sides of his thighs. "So, you were pretty good, then?"

Tyler undoes the button on Josh's jeans. "Regional at best," he says, shrugging it off, as he pulls down the zipper next.

"Sure your parents won't walk in?"

"Locked the door." Tyler fishes out Josh's cock, his palm wet with spit. It clings to his bottom lip. "Mom'll knock. She always knocks." He slides his hand up and rubs his thumb into the head. "But they're at church. Going to church." Tyler glances at Josh. "Praising the Lord."

Josh blinks. "Loving God."

Tyler scoots toward the edge of the bed. "Amen." He takes Josh's cock into his mouth, swallowing as soon as he's able.

Josh curls his fingers into Tyler's hair. "Jesus Christ."

Josh never thought he'd be in a position to have someone laugh with his cock in their mouth, but here's Tyler, laughing his head off, drool on his bottom lip and chin, cheeks pink, eyes closed, as he eases himself from Josh's space to fall back on his bed, hands covering his face as he laughs, and then laughs some more. Does Josh even want to know why Tyler is giggling? It must be because of what he had said, and given the context, Josh can understand why it'd be funny. He laughs himself, hiding his face, as well. " _Tyler_."

It's minutes before either of them can remove their hands and stare at the other. And even then, it's still met with laughter. Tyler recovers first, pushing himself into sitting. He's crying, wiping the tears from his eyes with knuckles. "Man, oh, man." He sniffs. "Take off your clothes." Tyler rubs his hands together, very devilishly.

"You, too. Don't leave me hanging."

"Yeah, yeah."

Tyler's bed is small, and yet Tyler seems to appear smaller on top of it. He's hugging himself, his legs pulled to his chest. Josh is open, crawling toward Tyler and pressing kisses to his knees and the bruises there. "You okay?"

Tyler nods. "More than okay."

Josh coaxes Tyler's legs apart, hands warm and gentle. Tyler becomes putty, slouching against pillows, as Josh looms over him, kissing his mouth, slow, excruciating slow. Tyler appreciates it all the same, holding onto the side of Josh's face with the hand previously wrapped around Josh's cock. Spit clings to his fingers, but it isn't gross. It's in the moment, and Josh welcomes that.

He kisses Tyler's neck, down his chest, peppering them along his nipples. Tyler's back arches, a leg straightening out, the other bent at the knee still. His eyes are closed. He can't look. Josh doesn't force him to look. He can hear Tyler struggle to breathe, even see the way he grabs the bed covers as he fights whatever demons are battling in his head. Josh wants to tell him everything's going to be okay, but Josh doesn't know how to form that into words. He returns to kissing, tonguing Tyler's stomach, the baby fat. Tyler whimpers. "Want me to stop?" Josh asks, and Tyler shakes his head.

"Don't. Please."

"Tell me what you want me to do."

"Fuck me," Tyler whispers, low enough to miss, but loud enough to make Josh weak. "Dear God, I want you to fuck me."

Tyler keeps his box of condoms and lubricant in his backpack, stuffed in an inside pocket out of sight. He says his mother would kill him if she sees them, no matter he's of age and should be allowed resources such as this with no judgment. "Wouldn't she be glad you're practicing safe sex?" Josh asks, holding Tyler down with a hand on the small of his back, two fingers already inside him. "Shouldn't it be, like, safe sex or no sex at all?"

Tyler has been the furthest thing from cool, calm, and collected during his preparation. He's panting now, directing his whines into the pillow or the comforter. It's the pillow this time. "More like… no sex ever. Until you're married. And, like, forty years old."

"Oops," Josh says.

Tyler laughs. "Yeah, _oops_."

Josh is careful as he enters Tyler. Tyler is keening, realizing how hard it is to stay upright on hands and knees while he's being treated like this. His shoulders roll, his head bends low, and Josh takes Tyler's hips in both hands, digging his thumbs into the skin there. Pink, scratching, Josh wants to see marks. Tyler wants to feel marks. He moves his hips, legs spreading the tiniest bit to aid him in this task. "Yeah," he repeats, under his breath, biting on his lip again. The bed clothes are on the darker side; if blood were to drip onto them, they wouldn't be seen.

"Isn't your first time, is it?" Josh curls his fingers into Tyler's skin, keeping himself in place, making Tyler do most the work. The curve of his bottom fits comfortably with the dip of Josh's groin.

"I know what I like," Tyler says, not quite answering Josh's question. He lowers himself onto his elbows, legs spreading more.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." Tyler nods.

Josh shifts his hips, Tyler gasping, pleading into the pillow. "You like that?"

Tyler nods.

"Say it."

"Yes." Tyler closes his eyes, turning onto his side. "Faster. Harder. Please."

Josh does.

Tyler groans. "Yes, yes, _yes._ "

Showing its age, the bed rattles as they roll and stretch and scratch and rock. Tyler ends up on his back, his leg on Josh's shoulder, his fist wrapped around his cock, doing more holding than anything else. Josh is over him, kissing his mouth, only his mouth. Josh isn't allowed to go lower, not while Tyler's parents might see the remnants. This is good, though— _better_ , actually. Tyler isn't that bad of a kisser now. He's mimicking Josh, playfully nipping his lip and licking it right after. However, they have to stop halfway through; Tyler's leg cramps.

"Switch, switch, switch," Tyler mumbles, and his other leg goes on Josh's other shoulder. He sighs. Josh rolls his eyes and knocks his hips into Tyler's ass over and over, Tyler muttering things that make little to no sense. It's mostly Josh's name. Josh removes Tyler's leg, scooting closer. The quilt sticks to Tyler's skin. Josh peels it away, wrapping his arms around Tyler's torso, chest to chest, his mouth back at Tyler's. Tyler lets go of his cock, touching Josh's neck, giving Josh's waist a loose squeeze with his thighs. "Josh," Tyler says, and Josh fucks him. "Josh," Tyler says, and Josh fucks him again and again, and Tyler cries as he comes, clenching around Josh, whining around Josh, twitching around Josh.

Josh fills the condom once Tyler begins moving again, working his hips in agonizing circles. It's a weak attempt at getting off for a second time. Tyler is lazy, not wanting to do much of anything while Josh pulls out and goes to toss the condom in the trash. "Put, like, toilet paper on top of it—bury it. She might go through my trash if she suspects something."

When he returns to Tyler's room, Tyler is sitting up, chewing on his fingernails. Aside from being naked, Tyler looks natural, as if nothing out of the ordinary had just happened. He's practically glowing, his shoulders dropped low, staring at his feet and the polish on the nails. He doesn't even seem self-conscious about the way his stomach rolls.

"We need to leave," Tyler says, turning his head to look at Josh. "I can't be here when my parents come home."

"Do you want to get food or something? Could hang out at my house after. My parents are more… lenient when it comes to sexuality."

Tyler blushes. Josh smiles. "Don't know if I'll be up to that _again_."

"Okay."

"You don't believe me!"

"'Course I don't."

Tyler pitches Josh's shirt at his head. "Shut up."

*

They jump in the shower first, washing hair and squirting body soap everywhere but in eyes.

Tyler steals his sister's hair dryer and gets their hair dry. "Can't go out with wet hair when it's cold like this," he says, and aims the stream of hot air at Josh's face.

In the bedroom, Tyler says, "Wear my clothes," and Josh does. He's no stranger to sharing clothing, but it feels different with Tyler. Tyler's jeans are tight, and his hoodies are big. Everything is _comfortable_ , surprisingly, so Josh finds no sense in complaining. He sits on Tyler's bed as Tyler finishes getting ready, pulling on red socks, giving a longing look at the shoes kicked into the corner.

"Supposed to snow more," Josh says, his phone out and open on the weather. "No, wait, just updated. More rain than anything."

Tyler wrinkles his nose and disappears down the hall, returning with a pair of boots on his feet. They're his sister's. Josh smiles at him. "Food now?"

Tyler tugs a beanie onto his head, tossing another at Josh. "Yessir."

It's raining right now. They race to Tyler's car, Tyler sliding and almost falling. Josh laughs. Tyler laughs, too.

They don't discuss what they want to eat. The first place they see is McDonald's, and then Tyler is turning into the parking lot. "Okay if we go in?"

"Yeah."

It had been warmer in Tyler's car, but they warm up soon enough once they sit and eat. They're in a booth, next to a window, Josh munching on a large order of fries and Tyler already unwrapping his second double cheeseburger. "You know what, man?" Tyler starts.

"What, man?"

"I think this is the longest I've gone without brushing my teeth." Tyler's next bite brings out the pickle. It pokes between his lips. He slurps it up.

Josh shakes his head. "I don't know about that, man. Sure you've gone longer as a kid."

"Recently, I meant." Tyler's phone goes off, the vibration loud as it rattles into the salt and pepper shakers. He shoves in another mouthful of cheeseburger before answering, his fingertips greasy and leaving streaks on the screen and the sides of the case. "Hello?" He chews, eyes on a car driving past them and entering the drive thru. "I'm eating. No, I went there yesterday." Josh hands Tyler a fry. "McDonald's. Yeah. Where are you?" Josh gives Tyler another fry, and then two more. Tyler takes them all, sticking them in his mouth. "Hm, that's cool. Their rolls are good." Josh dips a fry in ketchup before passing it to Tyler. He grabs a napkin and wipes the corner of Tyler's mouth. Tyler smiles.

"Yeah, I was there. In the back. Came in late. Went with a friend." Josh snorts. Tyler stares. "No, not Chris. Not Mark either. His name's Josh. I don't think you've met him before." Josh holds up another fry, poking Tyler in the cheek. Tyler bites it, talking with half of it hanging from his lips. "No, we're going back to his house. Gonna play _Mario Kart_." Josh furrows his brow. Tyler works the rest of the fry into his mouth and holds his thumb up. Josh nods. "I might spend the night with him. Depends." Tyler frowns. "Well, I can't go home if he wins more than me. Come on." Josh sips at his Coke, kicking Tyler under the table. Tyler smiles. "Yeah, I'll call you if anything happens." He kicks Josh right back. "I have a full tank, got some gas yesterday. Love ya. Bye, Mom." Tyler hangs up, sets his phone face down, and picks up his cheeseburger. He begins eating again.

Josh can't wipe the smile from his face. "You're really cute."

Tyler blushes. "You, too."

*

The basement of his parents' house is cozy, and used by the kids when they have friends over. It's colder than any other room in the house, but that's expected by its placement. There's a couch down here, the pillows usually thrown to the floor to become armrests while video game controllers set in hands. The TV is almost always on, either on the blue screen in wait for a console to turn on or flipped to some channel only suited for background noise. Josh's background noise is some reality show. No substance, no grab at attention—not while Tyler is on his lap, knees poised on each side of him. Tyler is kissing him, messy, wet pecks rather than open-mouthed exchanges. It's noisy, what they're doing. Tyler likes making noise, even more so now since Josh's parents don't care if Josh has a boy down in the basement.

"Quiet, you," Josh says, after Tyler tilts his head back and moans for the umpteenth time. "Only so much the Kardashians can hide." Josh touches Tyler's neck, still bent back, eyes closed in bliss.

"Can't exactly be quiet when your dick's like this." Tyler holds onto Josh's shoulder and Josh's wrist, gripping each tightly as he works himself into another shivering mess.

"Like what?" Josh slides his hand down Tyler's throat, touching his chest.

"Y'know," Tyler mumbles, looking at Josh. "Y'know… _you know_." He kisses Josh, hips rolling to meet Josh's stomach.

Tyler comes with his arms wrapped around Josh's neck, clinging as he continues to bellow into the air with no sign of stopping. He's shaking like a leaf when Josh catches up to him, fighting to breathe. Josh rubs Tyler's back, holding him close after Tyler snuggles in as if he were a bed bug. "Hey," Josh mutters, both of their stomachs damp with Tyler's semen. "Did you make a New Year's resolution?"

He wheezes. Tyler actually wheezes in place of laughter. "Oh, yeah. I wanted to kiss a boy. Get a boyfriend."

Josh smiles, pinching Tyler's upper arm.

Tyler smacks his hand. "It gets better." He's already giggling. "I wanted to go to church more."

Josh's face grows red from how hard he laughs. He can't look at Tyler; he covers his face and laughs into his hands, Tyler on top of him, his cock limp and still inside of Tyler. Tyler is laughing as hard as Josh, his own face a fucking peach. "Is it really that funny? I mean, _I_ thought so. But you? You're losing it, man."

Josh takes Tyler's face in his hands, his thumbs stroking along Tyler's jaw line and the stubble coating his skin. "The first thing you did, Tyler, for this _splendid_ New Year, was skip church so you could sleep with someone."

"A _boy_ ," Tyler clarifies, like it matters. He crosses his arms over his chest. "So, really, I'm okay. Just… one resolution cancelled out the other. I'm back to where I started."

"Are you?"

Tyler frowns. "Aren't I?"

"Going to church more and kissing a boy and, I'm assuming, having said boy be your boyfriend." Josh holds up three fingers in Tyler's face, wiggling them. "You already ruined the first one. And kissed a boy. Where does that leave you?" Josh drops his first finger, curling it into his fist, his ring finger following. His middle finger stands strong and proud.

Tyler's eyes widen. He gasps. "Josh, stop that." Tyler wraps his fingers around Josh's middle one, his eyes narrowing now. "I thought that would leave me at nothing, since I assumed we were…" He drifts off.

"Were what?"

"An item."

Josh raises an eyebrow. "An item?"

"Yes," Tyler sighs. "An _item_."

"You have my dick up your ass twice, and now you think we're some kind of _item_?"

"Yes," Tyler sighs again, rolling his eyes this time.

"Don't even know you," Josh retorts. "Should take you out first."

"We went to McDonald's."

"Does that count?"

"It counts to me." Tyler shifts to the side, sitting next to Josh on the couch cushion over. He frowns, pressing his palms to his thighs. "So, what… we're not an item?"

"I dunno about 'item', but we're something." Josh wraps his arm around Tyler's shoulders, pulling him into a sweaty side hug. Tyler welcomes it, enveloping Josh's waist into his own hug. "No one says 'item' anymore, Tyler. Get with the times."

Tyler blows a raspberry into Josh's stomach—a ruse to lap up the drying spunk on Josh's skin. "Okay, _whatever_. Not an item. But we're something. What is that something?"

"Isn't it obvious?"

"Is it obvious to a guy who thought 'item' was still relevant?" Tyler shakes his head. "No. Tell me." Tyler's teeth scrape and dig in as he bites Josh's hip.

"No." Josh smiles. "I'm going to make you figure it out."

Tyler groans loudly.

*

"I actually have _Mario Kart_ ," Josh says, pulling his shirt over his head. "So, if you… want to play it…?"

Tyler jumps all over that opportunity. He's working back on his sweatshirt, longer than the one he had yesterday. This one has been taken care of better, no holes, just soft black fabric. He flops onto his stomach, controller in his hands, tongue poking from the corner of his mouth. He's _ready_ , and Josh actually feels a sort of affection for him. It was there before, but it's changing— _evolving_ , and Josh is scared. He's terrified.

"Hey," he mumbles, on his stomach next to Tyler, as the game loads. "You know I was giving you a hard time, right? I like you, Tyler."

"Don't even know me," Tyler replies, eyes on the screen, as he chooses the first track. "Need to take me out."

"Do you want to get, like, fucking pancakes at two in the morning then?"

Tyler blinks. "That sounds really good." They're quiet for a minute, concentrating on the race. Tyler speaks up again. "I know you were just giving me a hard time. I figured it out. We're not boyfriends, but we're… on our way. No idea what that in-between stage is called, so we're _something_." He glances at Josh. "Right?"

"Right." Josh smiles. "Proud of you." He races past Tyler and secures his victory.

Tyler has no time to protest since his phone begins ringing. He lets it lie for a moment, his hands still on the controller. Josh doesn't need to check the caller ID to know it's Tyler's mom.

"Is she that… protective?" Josh asks, unsure if that's the appropriate word.

"Yeah." Tyler lets it go to voicemail. "Pick another track." He's smiling. He wins this race.

Tyler reaches for his phone after, an arm's length away, on top of his jeans. He calls his mom back, sticking his phone between his shoulder and ear as he sits up and chooses the third track for the night.

As if it were heat from a radiator, Josh can feel Tyler's lack of comfort and yearn to leave.

"I told you," Tyler says. "Playing _Mario Kart_ with Josh. He's actually pretty good. We're tied right now." His grip tightens on the controller, making it creak. " _I told you_. I was playing—okay, sorry. Want me to take a picture of the T—sorry. I'm sorry."

Josh pauses the game. Tyler shoves his big toe into Josh's armpit, shaking his head. They continue the race.

"I'm spending the night. We're not doing anything, Mom. Probably gonna play video games." Tyler rolls his eyes. "Okay. Right. Yeah. Want me to, like, uh, bring him home tomorrow? If you're so, so, so—yeah." Tyler pauses the game this time, setting down his controller on a pillow and taking hold of his phone. He hides his face with his free hand. "Yeah. I heard you. Love ya. Bye, Mom."

Tyler tosses his phone onto his jeans. He sits there, unmoving, his eyes looking at something far ahead, past the wall, past the house itself.

Because he's an ass riddled with anxiety, Josh cracks a joke. "Already meeting your parents? Moving a bit fast."

Tyler whispers, "Gonna need to, to… _crap_." He closes his eyes. "Josh, please know I'm not trying to offend you when I say I knew you were queer as soon as I looked at you, and that's why I went up to you and wanted you to be the boy I kissed at midnight."

"We… _know_ these things, I get it. Your mom won't know if she…"

"She'll know." Tyler opens his eyes, looking down at Josh. "No, I take that back. She'll suspect something, and that suspicion will eat her up until she finds out if she's right." He licks his lips. "It's not just with me, Josh. She's like that with all of us. It's… normal."

"Not normal."

Tyler nods. "Yeah." He picks up the controller again, running his thumbs along the plastic. "God, she's going to… comb you over. She did that with Chris and Mark, and I…" Tyler sighs. "It's going to be okay." He forces a smile. "We're okay. Ready to keep playing?"

Josh smiles. It's fake, too. "Yeah."

They play until the rest of the house goes to sleep, and then they play some more. As they planned, at two in the morning, they pull on their clothes and head outside. In Tyler's car, they light up cigarettes.

"Why do we keep going out in this weather?" Tyler asks, hopping in place as he waits for Josh to get out the car. "Could'a stayed inside."

"You wanted pancakes!"

"Okay, we _both_ wanted pancakes."

Josh laughs. "Oh, yeah."

The pancakes are some of the best Josh has ever had. They're far from being the only ones in the restaurant; many couples are eating, and then there are groups of friends who are tired and still nursing a hangover from that morning.

"Time is… weird," Josh says.

Tyler holds out his fork, poking Josh's lips with syrup and pancake. "Definitely."

Josh eats what Tyler feeds him, and does it right back to Tyler. It's gross, sick—they're disgusting, smiling and giggling and feeding each other and playing footsie under the table. Just awful, really.

Back in Tyler's car, they smoke more cigarettes. They pass it between them, getting ash over their thighs. Josh wonders if Tyler's mom will get upset over this, but Tyler is the one to start flicking his ashes in the floor. Josh tries to avoid doing that. There's only so much he can do.

"Wanna fuck me again?" Tyler chews on his lip. He doesn't need a reminder of where Josh lives. It's like the back of his hand.

"Can I come inside you this time?"

"Gonna clean me up after?"

"Always."

Tyler is blushing. This is normal. This is normal. "Then, yeah. Third time's the charm. Come inside me, Josh."

Despite common sense dictating they be quiet, they are not quiet. Josh's bedroom is nestled in between other bedrooms, one of which being his parents'. His TV is on, and they play some music, but Tyler is _loud_. Tyler knows what he likes, and he likes it when other people know.

And if it wasn't obvious to Josh before, it's obvious now: Tyler, behind his good boy front, has a dirty mouth.

"Ah, shit, _fuck_ , Josh." Tyler arches, his chest against Josh's chest. "Josh, Joshie, fuck, _fuck_! Right there, holy _hell_ , dear Lord, don't stop."

Josh ends up having to stick two fingers in Tyler's mouth to keep him from talking. Tyler seems to get louder, though, his sounds of pleasure now more moans than words. Tyler's hips twitch, his toes curling. He tries talking. It doesn't work.

Tyler's mind must be static. Josh removes his fingers, touching the bed sheets beside Tyler's head. He's babbling, drool on his lips, his eyes closed, only the whites showing if he opens them. Josh kisses him, wet, deep. Tyler giggles and babbles some more. It's cute. God, it's cute. Josh leans his forehead to Tyler's, their noses bumping together. "You're cute," he says, rocking his hips into Tyler as he bottoms out. "You're so cute." Josh kisses Tyler.

Tyler hugs Josh, his arms a tight loop around his torso. "Am I?"

"Oh, yeah."

Tyler kisses Josh, his teeth nipping at his bottom lip, his nails raking down Josh's back. "Well, you're _hot_ , and I want your come inside me."

"Gimme a minute," Josh says, smiling. "Maybe two minutes."

"Gonna come for me?" Tyler raises his eyebrows.

"Not now." Josh laughs. "Can't do it on command."

Tyler smacks a wet kiss to Josh's cheek. "That's okay. I can't either."

What Tyler can do on command is talk. When Josh wants Tyler to tell him what he wants to do, it's like Tyler's voice becomes a metaphorical megaphone as he lists off every filthy thing in the world. Right now, it's spitting. Josh sticks his fingers in Tyler's mouth. "I'm not going to spit on you. That's… degrading."

"Bu' I as'ed you 'o," Tyler says, looking up at Josh with big eyes. "P'ease."

"No."

Josh takes out his fingers, essentially saving them from certain death, since once Tyler comes, he bites. He bites down on air and shakes, and Josh fucks him through it, listening to the praise and the _actual forgiveness_ leaking from his voice box.

Josh follows Tyler not long after. He's quieter, used to sharing a bed with another person—or his hand—late at night. He watches Tyler, making sure everything is fine. Tyler's out of breath, corners of his eyes wet. Josh smiles. "I can honestly say I've never had someone begging God for forgiveness as they're coming."

"First time for everything," Tyler says, voice hoarse. Josh hopes that goes away by morning. How would Tyler explain that to his mother?

"Do we need to talk about your dirty mouth?" Tyler smiles. Josh narrows his eyes. "Because I can't even show you my middle finger unless you squeal like a pig, but you've got the mouth of a sailor."

"Have you met many sailors?"

"It's an expression, Tyler."

"Outdated," Tyler mumbles. "Like 'item'."

"Y'know how I said I was gonna clean you up? I think I'm gonna let you go to sleep like this."

" _No_ , don't, please, Josh." Tyler's voice is weak, not even strong enough to fight properly. "I can feel it coming out."

Josh rolls his eyes. "Yeah, that tends to happen when you come inside someone. Just don't… push or anything if you don't want it to come out faster." He reaches over for his box of tissues and grabs a few, returning to Tyler. Josh wipes the mess from Tyler's stomach first, then prompts Tyler to roll onto his stomach. Tyler does after some grumbling.

"Feel like a baby," he says.

"Wouldn't clean a baby like this," Josh says, flattening his tongue and running it over Tyler's stretched hole.

Tyler fucking mewls. " _Jo-o-osh._ "

Josh pulls back. "Do you want me to stop?"

"No, just… a little slower."

Josh does.

Tyler is full-on weeping by the end, curled into himself like a fetus. "Josh, you are so amazing, and I am so lucky to have you as my sexual partner." Josh joins Tyler on the bed after pitching the trash, shutting off the music, and turning down the TV. He tugs on the blankets and covers them both. "Is that our _something_?" Tyler goes on. "Sexual partners?" Tyler answers his own question with a shake of his head. "No, it's more than just sex to me."

Josh hugs Tyler. "Go to sleep."

It might be a one-time thing, but Tyler can also sleep on command.

*

They sleep.

Josh raises his head. "Hey, what time does—?"

Tyler touches Josh's face. "Shut up."

And they sleep.

*

It's evening when they wake fully. Though their movements are sluggish, Josh still drags Tyler into the shower and washes each of them.

They stand in front of the sink after, glaring at their reflections.

"Is it just me," Tyler says, "or does it look like all we've done is have sex?" They're relieved to find Tyler's voice has returned to normal.

Josh has marks over his shoulders, his chest, even some flirting at the juncture of his neck. "It's good that it's, like, winter."

Tyler turns. "Okay, we need to talk."

"Sure."

"I don't think my parents will hate you."

"I'm overjoyed to hear it."

Tyler ignores him. "You don't have any tattoos."

"Not yet."

"Mom would have greatly disliked you if you had tattoos. She flipped when she saw this, but she calmed down after I told her it was a Bible verse." Tyler rubs his fingers into the Roman numerals on the inside of his upper arm. He frowns. "Your nose ring and ear plugs…"

"I used to have a lip ring, so this is an improvement."

Tyler nods, sighing. "Good."

Josh tilts his head. "Doesn't 'greatly dislike' mean 'hate'?"

Tyler ignores him again. "And your hair is fine, acceptable, not too outrageous."

"Not yet," Josh repeats.

"You have very high ambitions." Tyler counts silently on his fingers, a checklist scrolling in his head. "Do you go to school?" At Josh's shaking head, Tyler stiffens. "Do you, at least, work?"

"Yeah. Record store downtown."

Tyler falters. "Really?"

Josh nods. "Yeah."

Tyler blinks. "Do you, uh, do you play any instruments?"

Josh nods again, then feels stupid for doing so. "There's, um, drums down in the basement."

"I didn't see any drums."

"Because my dick was up your ass."

Tyler smiles. "Oh, yeah."

Josh chews on the inside of his cheek. He's going to be ripping another hole into it by the end of the day. "What do you do, then? Work? School?"

"Neither," Tyler whispers, his face heated from embarrassment. "I mean, I did go to school. I finished out last semester, and… I didn't want to come back. My parents don't know. Can't know. They'll kick me out." Tyler looks down at their feet. "I was planning on just… going to the school and mooching off their Wi-Fi, but I would be looking for a job? It… oh, _crap_ , I don't know what I'm going to do." Tyler rubs his eyes. "I set a goal for myself, you know, that I would move out by, like, the end of summer. That's reasonable, right?"

"Yeah."

Tyler drops his hands, arms hanging limp by his sides. "I thought so."

Josh takes Tyler's arms, sliding his hands down until he's holding Tyler's wrists. "If you need help or anything like that, tell me, and I'll help."

"Don't even know you," Tyler teases. Josh pulls him forward, kissing his mouth. Tyler laughs. "Don't even have your phone number."

"I'll give it to you." Josh kisses Tyler's cheek, his neck. "I'll give it to you."

*

Tyler's parents love Josh. Well, that's what Tyler says.

"They love you. Don't worry so much!"

They're in Tyler's room, sitting on the bed, their phones in their hands. They're texting each other, testing the waters.

" _You're_ telling _me_ not to worry about your parents." Josh snorts. "Okay."

"Shut up." Tyler tosses his phone aside, wrapping his fingers around Josh's chin and turning his head. "Please. I'm… stressing out."

Josh kisses Tyler. Tyler kisses back, his hand dropping to Josh's shoulder. He squeezes.

"Tyler! I thought I told you to leave this door open!"

They're scrambling, working together: Josh plugs in the controllers, Tyler inserts the game. "Sorry, Mom!" He opens the door. "We were just playing _Mario Kart._ "

"With the door locked?"

"Sorry."

"Keep the door open."

"I will."

She peeks in and looks at Josh. Josh smiles. She turns to Tyler. "Will he be spending the night?"

"Yeah, I think. I'll get him a sleeping bag from the hall closet."

That seems to satisfy her. Tyler grabs for his phone, standing by his bed as he types out a message. The recipient is Josh.

_no clue why she wants me to keep my door open. she doesn't care when i have other friends over, even chicks._

They can't talk in fear of eavesdropping. Josh glances at Tyler, typing his reply with one hand. _I'm not sleeping in a sleeping bag_

_i know you're not, just let her believe that_

_Got it_

*

When it gets closer to the expected bed time, Tyler's mom hovers. It starts in the kitchen, and then it continues into the hallway outside the bedrooms. Josh and Tyler keep to their game, but eventually Tyler has to get up and sate her. He returns with a sleeping bag under his arm, eyes narrowed. "Good night, Mom," he says, and quietly closes the door with his foot. He stands there, waiting, and Josh waits, too, on the floor.

"She's gone," Tyler whispers, dropping the sleeping bag on the carpet. "We can't… She'll hear."

"Looks like we have to be quiet, then."

"Josh, no."

Josh gives Tyler the other controller. "Okay."

An hour later, Josh has Tyler shuddering on the bed, three fingers massaging Tyler's prostate and Tyler's cock down his throat. Tyler is whispering, "Please, please, please, Josh, Josh, Josh," his hands over his mouth, capturing his moans and swallowing them. "Don't stop, don't stop." Tyler bites his fingers. "Holy _fuck_ , don't stop."

*

Tyler drives Josh home. They're smiling, happy.

"Thank you," Tyler says, "for making my New Year's not that miserable."

"That sounds like a goodbye. This isn't goodbye." Josh leans over to kiss Tyler. He frowns. "Might be goodbye if you don't start brushing your teeth."

Tyler laughs. "Dude, you haven't brushed your teeth either!"

Josh kisses Tyler again. "I'll text you. Call you. We'll hang out again."

Tyler strokes Josh's cheek with the side of his thumb. "Okay."

*

Their phones are constantly burning up with text messages and calls, but the next time they're together is the day after Valentine's Day.

Tyler runs out of his car, and Josh catches him when he leaps for his arms. They spin. It's snowing.

"I'm sorry we couldn't do anything yesterday." Tyler runs his fingers through Josh's hair. "But my parents—they—"

"Yeah." Josh rubs Tyler's back. "Did you want to go out and eat something?"

"I'm in the mood for Taco Bell."

"Romantic!"

Tyler gets a job at Hobby Lobby. The pay is decent, and the place always smells good. "My head doesn't hurt when I'm in there."

Josh doesn't know what that means. He doesn't ask. "Hey, I bought you something. It's in my room."

Tyler stares at him.

Josh stares back. "It's not that. Unless you want to do that tonight."

On Josh's bed, Tyler opens his present. He pauses in his unwrapping and frowns. "I didn't… buy you anything."

"You need to save your money. Don't worry about it." Josh sits across from Tyler. "Go ahead."

It's a new pair of shoes—floral vans. They aren't Tyler at all, but they're all Tyler at the same time. Josh saw them, and he saw Tyler wearing them with painted toes and his red socks. Tyler's lack of response is doing nothing to Josh's confidence levels, though. "No?" Josh asks quietly. "If you don't like them, I can—"

"I love them."

"Really?"

Tyler nods. "I really do." Josh waits for more, like how Tyler can't wear them around his parents or how he'll have to hide them when he's home. That doesn't happen. Tyler only smiles, and he's kissing Josh, his face in his hands, and he kisses Josh like it's going out of style.

And when Josh sees Tyler the following week, he's wearing those shoes with a green parka and the biggest smile. He waves at Josh, and he runs toward him, and this time Josh spins them around even more. They're in the front yard of Tyler's parents' house, but they don't care.

They don't care.


	2. Exhibit B

They start moving out Tyler's stuff in June.

It's done late at night, tiptoeing out the house with boxes and holding in their laughter until they're safe at Tyler's car. "This is exciting, isn't it?" Tyler asks, sweat on his brow, his t-shirt clinging to his skin. "It's kind of like… stealing."

"From your parents?"

Tyler nods, quick and in succession. "Yeah, yeah, yeah."

Their apartment isn't ready for Tyler to see, Josh says. He was the one to talk to the landlord and put down their first month's rent.

"When can we move in?" Tyler says every time they see each other, and every time they see each other, Josh says, "It's not ready yet!"

Josh can't drive. Tyler drives Josh to the apartment, but has to stay in the car while Josh carries the boxes inside. "It's not fair," Tyler says. "Lemme see _something_."

So, Josh sends a selfie of him standing in front of a window.

_love the view!_

Tyler is nervous at first. He picked at his nails until Josh had to wrap bandages around each finger. "You're an adult," he told Tyler. "Just remember that."

"I will." Tyler smiled.

Tyler is smiling. He's driving them back to his parents' house, his car three boxes and a duffel bag lighter. "Think I only have the rest of my clothes left? What about you?"

"Same."

"Have you told your parents?"

"Yeah. They're counting down the days until I leave, no doubt."

Tyler gnaws at his lip. "I think my parents would be glad to be rid of me." Tyler snaps, eyes wide. "Completely forgot my Nintendo!"

*

When Tyler mentions moving out by the end of the summer, neither of them even thought about moving in together.

It's April Fools' Day when Tyler entertains the possibility. They're on Tyler's bed, the door open, has to be open, lying side by side, their legs hanging off the edge. "Why don't we live together?" he asks.

Josh doesn't hear him. The door's open, and they're supposed to be quiet due to the potential of eavesdropping. "Hm?"

"If I'm going to move out," Tyler starts, turning his head and leaning in to whisper into Josh's ear, "then why don't you move out, too? We could live together."

Josh turns his head this time, brow furrowed. "Are you being serious?"

"Yes."

"Really?"

Tyler rolls his eyes. " _Yes_."

So, at the start of June, since Tyler is still lying to his parents about going to school, they begin the process of moving. It's taking longer than they expected. It has to be done at night when they're at Tyler's; while at Josh's, his parents know, and they can spend weekends driving from the house to the apartment and back again with no judgment nor worry.

Josh's room is messy. Tyler and he waste more time going through Josh's old school stuff than actually working. They do this in Tyler's room, too, but Tyler doesn't let Josh flip through old notebooks.

"Embarrassing," Tyler says, sticking them into a cardboard box. "Don't read."

At Josh's, they're allowed to take breaks and kiss and fuck. At Tyler's, they have to wait until the early morning hours to sneak out and smoke cigarettes and kiss on the hood of Tyler's car. Tyler's lips are always chapped, but Josh sucks on his lips and holds his hand, and everything will turn out okay in the end.

*

"I think it's gotten worse, somehow," Tyler mumbles, sitting on the grass in his parents' backyard. They're not allowed inside. Tyler's mom said they shouldn't be inside on a day like this. It's May, the sun high in the sky, but they keep under some shade. Tyler is picking at blades of grass and tearing them to shreds. Better them than his fingers.

"What are you talking about?" Josh is on his phone. "What were we talking about?"

Tyler shakes his head. "It's nothing. We weren't talking about anything." He stares at Josh, a handful of grass in his fist. "I'm _tired_ of hiding."

"Then go inside and tell them. I'll be right beside you."

"Can't go inside," Tyler grumbles. "Not allowed."

"Get water."

Tyler returns to the grass. "Maybe." He chews on his lip. "Okay. I'll get water." He stands, legs protesting. His body is working against him. "Josh."

"Right beside you, I said that."

"Stay here."

Josh blinks. "Okay." He frowns. "Are you sure?" But Tyler is sure, or he didn't hear; it doesn't matter, he's going around the house, his feet in his Adidas sandals stomping on kitsch stepping stones. Tyler's legs are dark, his arms even darker. He's been shirtless practically all summer, yet today he pulled on a t-shirt and thus smothered Josh's wank bank material for the day.

Tyler's lost some weight. It isn't concerning, just enough for Josh to notice when he's lying on top of Tyler. It's definitely good. Tyler's eating healthier, but there are days where he can still swallow two double cheeseburgers and a large order of fries. He's gotten to the point where he can eat anything and Josh wonders where it goes. Josh is much the same way, in that respect.

Josh hears the back door open. He doesn't know if it was Tyler getting up the courage to finally go inside, or if he's leaving. It's the latter. Tyler is walking a bit above the standard for walking. A water bottle is in his hands, the wrapper ripped off and the plastic crunching. Tyler is somber, and once he sees Josh, he becomes worse than somber. "Hey," Josh says, stuffing his phone into his pocket.

"Hey," Tyler says. "Can we, uh, go somewhere?"

"Sure, yeah. Where? Walking, driving? I can't drive."

Tyler blows out air. "I don't care. I just want to be with you."

They go around the neighborhood, passing the water bottle back and forth at a nudge of an elbow. Kids on bikes pass them, as do dogs on leashes. Tyler pets the dogs. After the third dog trots away, he says, "I didn't tell them. I couldn't. I was about to, but I chickened out. They kept… looking at me."

"Don't have to do anything you don't want to, Tyler."

"But you—"

"I never told anybody anything. You don't need to ask someone if they like someone if you see the way they act around them." Josh narrows his eyes. "That got wordy. You know what I mean."

Tyler is quiet. He twists the bottle cap. "Yeah. I'm… so fucking scared."

Josh wants to crack a joke about Tyler cursing outside the bedroom. He doesn't. "It is scary." Josh slips his fingers through Tyler's and squeezes. "It's a lot scarier when you don't have anybody by your side."

They get distracted by another dog. This one is a poodle, black fur shaved and tail wagging as Tyler rubs its head. They're still holding hands.

"Should have brought my cigarettes," Tyler says, waving goodbye to the dog.

"We need to stop that."

"First night we move in, we're drinking, okay? Gonna get so plastered and become known as the rowdy neighbors."

"Don't really drink. You know that."

Tyler looks up at Josh, hands on his knees as he stands. "First night we move in, I'm drinking, okay? Gonna get so plastered and become known as the rowdy neighbor."

Josh kisses him. Tyler smiles into it.

*

Their contact is shaky now. After their late Valentine's Day date, they saw each other less and less. Josh reasoned it had to do with them working and didn't seek out Tyler unless he wanted to be sought out. Josh visited Tyler at work once, stocking shelves in that blue vest and khakis, and Josh's stomach dropped. He didn't say hi. Tyler looked happy, and Josh felt he might ruin that if he were to go up to him.

They text often. It's _safe_. Every night, before he goes to bed, Tyler has to delete each message and explain to his parents his texts are taking too much space on his phone.

"Well, what's on your phone?" his mom asks. "Why do you need all that space?"

And Tyler says, "Music."

"Why did you tell them music?" Josh runs his fingers through Tyler's hair, wet from the pool.

Tyler is floating on a raft, his head resting on the makeshift inflatable pillow. "Because it was vague."

"It is vague. They didn't ask what sort of music you had on there? I thought they'd be the type to… monitor that, too."

Tyler shakes his head. "They let me have that."

Josh ducks under the water and flips Tyler off the raft. He flops into the water on his stomach, his lungs filling as he laughs. He's okay when he surfaces, his face red and rubbing the water from his eyes. "Fuck you," he says.

Josh grabs Tyler's leg, arms wrapped around his thigh. "I'll pull you under again. Swear to God."

Tyler can see. He tilts his head and wiggles his toes against Josh's hip. "There are some of my songs on my phone," he says. "You haven't heard them."

"Can I?"

Tyler shrugs.

"Why bring it up if I can't even listen to them?" Josh gives Tyler's leg a small yank. "You're killing me, Joseph."

" _You're_ killing _me_ , Dun!" Tyler grabs Josh's shoulders, nails digging in to anchor himself. "And they're… unfinished—bad. They're bad. I'd much rather you hear them—"

"Yeah, same here!"

Tyler narrows his eyes. "—live."

Josh smiles. "What?"

Tyler says, " _Live_ ," and pulls Josh underwater with him.

*

On nights Josh is free, Tyler is not. On nights Tyler is free, Josh is not. They say they'll be able to hang out more when it turns summer. So far, they've seen each other every day for a week. It's hard getting back into the swing of things, especially now that Josh finds out what Tyler is doing on his nights off.

It isn't scandalous one bit. Tyler's parents don't even care he's doing it. So, why does it feel like Josh is the last person to know?

"Did you have to, like, audition? I can't imagine they let anybody perform."

"They do," Tyler says. "I went on after some jerk who spent his entire set making offensive jokes. The crowd was sour, but I got claps when I finished."

"And you do this… every night?"

"Not every night…"

"And you didn't even think about telling me? Tyler, you could have fucking invited me to watch you."

Tyler is driving them somewhere to get food. The windows are down, the wind in their hair, and Tyler's knuckles are the color of snow on the steering wheel. "Embarrassing," he mumbles.

"Not embarrassing to a room of people you don't fucking know."

"Yeah, Josh, you're right." Tyler is uncomfortable enough for the two of them, while Josh is attracting the anger. "You're right."

The car needs to stop. It doesn't stop. Josh props his head up with an elbow on the window sill. "Do you think I'm gonna, like, judge you? I'm gonna hate it or something?"

Tyler shakes his head. It's the end of the conversation. They shove their faces full of tacos and pretend the elephant in the room is merely an illusion.

As far as elephants go, this one is huge and overbearing. It creeps up on them during text messaging and even while they're in Josh's basement or bed. They ignore it. They try to ignore it.

They're setting up plans for the next week when the elephant starts a stampede.

"So, these nights you're not available, will you be performing?"

Despite being on the phone, Josh can see Tyler roll his eyes and begin to shake as if they were in the same room. "Are you going to, to, to, um, get upset if I say yes?"

Josh pauses. "Tyler, just let me hear you."

"Goddamnit, Josh, I'll pick you up, what was it, Thursday? You're free on Thursday?"

"Yeah."

On Thursday, Tyler picks Josh up at eight that evening. The car ride is one of the worst Josh has ever been on. Tyler doesn't say anything, and neither does Josh. Occasionally, they meet eyes, and that's even worse than not speaking.

"You can smoke in there," Tyler says, the late spring breeze in his hair. He leans into Josh once they get out the car. Josh draws him in closer, hugging him tightly. Tyler shivers. It's not even cold. "Wish me luck?" Tyler looks at Josh, a thin hole already in his bottom lip.

"Good luck." Josh kisses his forehead.

The establishment is small and the stage in the basement even smaller. Tiny tables litter the place in a disorganized fashion, the seats with crooked legs and the stools at the bar completely missing the definition of "ergonomic". Tyler disappears as soon as they enter, and Josh doesn't know what he's supposed to do in the meantime. He has no idea what time Tyler is supposed to go, let alone if Tyler is required to stay out all night. Josh keeps to the back, his nerves on high and getting higher with each rock of his chair. Eventually he gives in and digs out the cigarettes from his pocket. It doesn't help that there's already an ashtray on the table begging to be full.

Tyler goes on around nine. The act before him is some mediocre guy with a bad haircut hoping to make an impression and receive a few numbers from girls, and gets nothing. Josh watches him pull out his phone as he's heading backstage, his thumbs typing an angry tweet. Josh is both amused and disgusted.

Before now, Josh never thought about what Tyler might actually _do_ on stage. Yes, he's going to sing, but what else, if there's anything else at all? Tyler had seemed interested in Josh being able to play an instrument, and it didn't pass under Josh's nose when Tyler sat his drums and tapped out a beat, or when Tyler's hands began to feel rougher as they slid along Josh's cock. But now? The stage is barely large enough to fit a drum set, so Josh can only wonder what Tyler has up his sleeve.

A cappella? No, Tyler is on stage, and a woman is close behind him, aiding him in carrying a keyboard. They set it down, and the girl disappears to grab Tyler a chair. This one looks a little better than the required seating for the customers, although it makes sense for the performers to get comfortable furniture. Josh rocks in his chair, flicking ashes from his cigarette. Can Tyler see him back here? He debates on waving, and decides against it. He seems to shrink in his chair, watching Tyler and the girl exchange smiles—smiles with teeth, smiles with squinty eyes. Josh wants to leave, but Tyler is fixing his microphone, taking his seat at the keyboard. "Hello," he says, sheepish, the stage not doing anything to help his anxiety. His fingers are twitching as they poke at the piano keys. Josh wants to leave. He's expecting the worst because _he's_ the worst. He shouldn't leave. He's terrible; he's shaking _for_ Tyler, gathering up all Tyler's insecurities and putting them into lighting another cigarette. Tyler is tilting his head to the side at the sound of the lighter flickering. His eyes drift to Josh's corner, and then Tyler smiles. It's with teeth. It's with squinty eyes. Tyler plays the piano. Josh didn't know Tyler could play the piano.

Tyler only sings one song. It's dim, it's hopeful, it's about not being able to sleep, about living another day, about needing saved because tomorrow's gone—just like yesterday. Tyler's voice goes high, daring to crack, but it doesn't, and no one laughs. No one thinks about laughing. They're clapping, applauding for Tyler as he takes the microphone and says, "See that wasn't that bad—that rapping part."

Josh leaves, then. He feels eyes on him and hopes none were Tyler's.

*

He sits next to Josh, his hands firm as they hoist him onto the hood of his car. He left with a crowd of people, some patting his back and raising their palms for a high-five. Josh almost thought he'd be asked for autographs, but then realizes that would have been outrageous.

"Got a light?" Tyler sings, his voice a purr.

Josh bites his cheek. "Not singing."

Tyler pokes Josh in the side. "That is _not_ the next line. What is it, Josh?"

Josh rolls his eyes. "'I know you, you're—you're shivering.' Tyler, please, don't—"

Tyler does. "It's nothing, they turned off my heat. And I'm just a little weak on my feet. Would you light my… candle?" He turns to Josh. "What are you staring at?"

Josh narrows his eyes. "Tyler, I'm—"

Tyler pouts.

Josh blinks. "Your hair in the moonlight." He holds out his pack of cigarettes, Tyler dragging one out along with Josh's lighter. "Happy?"

"Very!" Tyler smiles to himself, lighting his cigarette and passing the lighter back to Josh. There's only so long they can sit in this silence before the inevitable is asked, which is exactly twelve seconds after Tyler acquired a cigarette. "So, how'd you like it? You, uh, left in a hurry, but I'm gonna keep thinking you had to pee."

"It… wasn't what I expected, honestly? Like, Tyler… I don't know why you didn't want me to hear you. You're… Man, you're too damn amazing for your own good, actually."

Tyler is blushing. "Really?"

"You already know that, man. You're just fishing for compliments, want your ego stroked."

"Is my ego in my pants? Because I want that stroked."

Josh shakes his head. "You're funny."

"Thanks."

Another wave of people exit, some bumping into their friends, laughing at the top of their lungs. Two girls hold hands and skip away, their giggles something Josh will never forget.

He scoots close to Tyler, pressing his cheek to his shoulder. Tyler's own cheek connects with the top of Josh's head. "I didn't think I needed to tell you that you shouldn't be embarrassed to show me stuff like that. You know I'm going to support you no matter what you do." Josh rubs Tyler's thigh, resting his hand on Tyler's knee after. "I'm proud of you."

Tyler's response is in the form of him rubbing his cheek into Josh's hair. His cigarette is abandoned, the ashes being blown to a distant land. "I think I want to be alone tonight," he says. "It might not seem like it because of that stroking comment, but I really do want to go home and sleep."

"I have work in the morning anyway."

Tyler drives Josh home. They don't kiss good night.

*

Josh sees the piano in the back of Tyler's closet.

"You were hiding it from me, weren't you?"

"Josh, please." His hands go to Josh's shoulders, his arms, his wrists, grabbing, squeezing. "Josh, don't—"

"You don't have to—"

"Josh, I wasn't—"

"I'm over here as much as I can, Tyler! You could—I could—we—"

Tyler puts his hands on Josh's face, covering his mouth, shaking his head. "Lower your voice, please, Josh, please. My parents are in bed. We're supposed to be sleeping. They're going to find out." Tears prick at Tyler's eyes, biting them sharply. The whites of his eyes are pink, the irises as dark as black holes. "It's in my closet because there's no room for it just… sitting out here." Tyler sniffs. "Why are you—Josh, you _heard_ me. I _showed_ you. Why do you keep bringing it up? I thought we were past this."

Tyler's hand is over Josh's mouth, the other wrapped around to hold the back of his head. Josh can't talk. He doesn't want to talk. Tyler is talking.

"I'm sorry for not telling you sooner, Josh. I didn't think it would have been a big deal. Can we please move on?" Tyler tears apart his lips with his teeth, staring at Josh. "Please."

Tyler removes his hands, hovering them in place, ready to reattach to Josh if he were to speak loudly again. He doesn't. Josh whispers. "Okay," he whispers. "I'm sorry."

"We're both sorry." Tyler wipes his eyes, embarrassed. "Okay, I was thinking about taking the piano tonight. Can't really take anything else. I need to wear clothes. Play video games. Computer." Tyler picks at his fingers. They're bleeding in seconds.

"We don't have to move anything tonight," Josh says, and gently takes Tyler's hands. Tyler is limp, allowing Josh to guide him toward the bed. He's a doll, a Ragdoll kitten, letting Josh lay him down and pull the covers up to his chin. Josh joins him after, ignoring the untouched sleeping bag on the floor to instead wrap his arms around Tyler. Tyler welcomes it. He hugs Josh, his fingers twitching as the blood on the tips dry.

"I don't care," Tyler mumbles, and he repeats it over and over until it's all Josh can hear in his dreams. Tyler is a cat in those dreams, his tail wrapping around his shaved paws, meowing, bellowing, allergies on his eyes and running down his nose.

Sometime during the night, Tyler's fit makes him exhausted. He's curled into Josh's side, too tired to move even if he wanted to move. His t-shirt slid up his back, his leg tucked safely between Josh's legs. He's breathing, lightly snoring, his hair pushed back and oily. Josh thinks Tyler might sleep for a very long time.

But he wakes with a start. His cheek lined from the sheets and Josh's shirt, his head turns, watching his door open. "Didn't knock," he says, voice deep. Josh wants to take Tyler into his arms and rock him back to sleep, though that's impossible. Tyler's mom is standing by the door, glancing from Tyler and his dark eyes and messy hair and Josh with his arm stuffed behind his head and trying to get saliva to return to his mouth. "What do you want, Mom? What time is it?"

"We're going to be late for church," she says. "You're usually up before this."

"M'tired. We stayed up too late."

"Doing?"

" _Mario Kart_." Tyler lowers his head. "We'll be up… Gimme, like… twenty minutes."

Yet when she closes the door, they stay in bed for the rest of the day, Josh waking after another two hours of sleep and Tyler continuing to snore as if he were a power source.

As soon as it turns five, Josh wakes Tyler, rubbing his shoulder and the back of his neck. "Hey. I think it's been more than twenty minutes."

Tyler groans.

Josh smiles. "Missed church. _Again_. You're such a bad boy, Tyler. What did I do to you?"

"Did Mom walk in after that first time?"

"Not that I know of." Josh rolls onto his side. "Are you… okay?"

Tyler hums.

Josh kisses his temple. "I can walk home. Text me, yeah? Maybe after you've woken fully and taken a shower."

"You smell bad, too."

"Smell like you."

Tyler smiles.

In the kitchen, Tyler's mom sees Josh. She follows him with her eyes, all the way to the front door, silent, not even making a comment about how she caught her son in bed with another boy. Maybe it didn't look like anything. Friends sleep in the same bed. Friends cuddle, probably. They're fine.

Josh remembers Tyler muttering "I don't care" before he fell asleep. Josh decides he doesn't care either.

*

"Are we getting a new TV?" Josh waves his pizza crust at Tyler, mouth full with cheese and sauce. "I think my parents could get me one for my birthday."

Tyler pauses, pizza halfway to his mouth. "Is your birthday coming up?"

Josh shrugs. "I dunno. Is it?"

Tyler whines, head tilting back as he groans. " _Jo-o-o-o-sh_."

They're each on lunch break, Tyler surprising Josh with pizza and Red Bull. Tyler says he's supposed to leave in ten minutes, but he's his manager's favorite employee and should be able to come back a little later. Josh tells him that isn't right, but when Tyler asks him if he wants him to go now, Josh hugs him and squeezes him and lifts him off his feet. Tyler groaned then, and he's still groaning now, his feet swinging from his sitting on a counter. Josh is happy to see the flowers on his feet.

"Yes, it's coming up," Josh says, grabbing another slice of pizza.

"Thank you." Tyler recovers and munches on his pizza for a minute, thinking very deeply. His brows are knitted together, his fingers on his chin in a stereotypical thinking position. "Okay, it's June." Tyler taps his chin. He looks ridiculous. "Josh, I have trouble remembering what year it is." He snaps and pulls out his phone to double check. "It's this weekend! Saturday!"

"Are you free?"

Tyler curls his fingers into a fist. "Yes."

Josh wishes he hadn't said it. They agreed to move past this. He eats his pizza.

"Gonna get you such a good present," Tyler says. "Won't be able to, to, to even _function_ right for the rest of the week."

"You're not subtle, Tyler."

Tyler shrugs.

*

Saturday comes, and Tyler comes with it. He's late— _whatever_ —but he says he didn't give Josh an expected time. "I dunno, I assumed when you said 'Saturday', you meant… Satur _day_ , not… Satur _night_."

"Josh, that makes zero sense. I'm out front. Just got off work. Didn't have time to change."

"Yeah, you did."

"Okay, maybe I didn't want to change. Maybe I like wearing khakis."

Josh hangs up the phone, stepping onto the front porch. Tyler is leaning against his car, staring at his phone with a perplexed expression. It disappears quickly. He spots Josh and immediately smiles, pushing himself from his car to run toward the porch. The porch protests at Tyler hopping onto it, but neither of them hears. Tyler wraps his arms around Josh's neck, the tips of his toes skimming the wood beneath them. "Gotta get these clothes off you," Josh whispers, his lips next to Tyler's ear. "It's fucking hot out."

Tyler is naked as soon as they hit Josh's bed. "Oh, did you wash the sheets?" Tyler asks, eyes closing at Josh's teeth on his ribs. "Just for me?"

"No." Josh pauses in his biting. "I… Well, you just haven't been here in a while."

"I haven't, have I?" Tyler presses a hand to the top of Josh's head, resting it there. "How long has it been since we…?" He drifts, shaking his head.

"It doesn't matter." Josh continues his biting, forced to stop at Tyler's hands shoving him away, pushing him back, onto his back. Josh is on his back, looking up at Tyler on top of him, between his legs, a hand on each side of his head. Tyler is smiling, teasing, doing this thing with his hips that brings them closer, Tyler's bare cock against Josh's clothed one. Josh pushes Tyler to the side, working off his clothes. "Gonna help me?" he asks, and Tyler sticks his fingers underneath the waistband of Josh's shorts and slides them off and onto the floor.

"There we go," Tyler sighs. He shakes his head. "Sorry, that was stupid."

Josh's bed is bigger than Tyler's, yet all their escapades seem to occur either in Tyler's bed or in Josh's basement. It's been a while. Tyler's cock hasn't changed, but it feels different in Josh's hand. He runs his palm along the length of it, his thumb swirling wet circles around the head. Tyler is doing the same. They've done this before, but it's _different_. Josh can't put a finger on it. Tyler certainly can—putting his fingers in places he's never put them before. "Oh, crap, sorry. I should have asked if you were okay first, shouldn't I?" Tyler shows both hands to Josh—a mock surrender. "I didn't even, like, get it in. Just had it there."

"You… surprised me." Josh raises onto his elbows. "It's okay. I'm okay. Just… some warning, you know? Tell me."

"Right."

"And, uh, _lube_."

Tyler smacks his hand against his forehead. "Oh, yeah!"

Josh settles back down while Tyler crawls across the bed, poking around in Josh's nightstand for the lubricant. Without a look over his shoulder, Tyler tosses it at Josh, who catches it after some stretching to make sure it doesn't completely miss the bed. "Um," Tyler says, his head still in the drawer. "Condoms?"

"Don't wear one."

Tyler doesn't need to be told twice. He's back on Josh in no time, leaning in to kiss him. Josh pops the lid from the lube and coats Tyler's fingers with the stuff. "Slow," Josh advises, and Tyler nods. He looks like he wants to make a smart remark, but keeps it to himself. He sits on his legs, his hand ducking between Josh's legs to press two fingers to Josh's hole. Only one goes in, and it's slow, so slow, and Josh _begs_ for more.

Now that shocks Tyler. Maybe he didn't know how much power he could have in his fingers—or _whatever_. Tyler uses this to his advantage, molding Josh into a fumbling mess with three fingers and a set of lips wet with too much saliva and not enough saliva.

"Get on my dick," Tyler all but moans. He's sitting criss-cross applesauce, holding his cock at the base, hard and leaking and waiting for Josh. No oral required, Tyler wants Josh, and Josh wants Tyler.

But Josh is an ass. "You're so romantic, Tyler." He reaches for the lube, drizzles it onto Tyler's cock.

Tyler laughs. "I'm excited, if you can't tell." He pumps his hand—once, twice.

Josh crawls onto Tyler's lap, taking his cock. Their fingers catch for a second, and then Tyler's grabbing Josh's hips, helping him bounce and rock. Josh is exceptionally awkward at this, but Tyler is, too, so it works. Needless to say, neither of them lasts as long as they would if the roles were reversed. Josh doesn't care. His arms snake their way around Tyler's neck as he comes, letting out several pathetic _oh_ s in the process. Tyler grunts, his nails bitten and broken and still ripping Josh's skin open. He fills Josh, panting, his forehead to Josh's collarbone. They didn't even change position, too preoccupied with the sound of Josh riding Tyler's cock to care.

"You know what that means?" Josh sits up briefly, Tyler's cock slipping from him, and plants himself back on Tyler's lap.

"Josh, I'm not doing much thinking right now." Tyler brushes Josh's hair from his face. "What does what mean?"

Josh kisses Tyler, soft lips beneath his own. "You're gonna have to clean me up."

Tyler's laughter could cause earthquakes.

*

"So, what did your fam get you for your birthday?"

"Don't say that."

Tyler rolls his eyes. "So, what did your _family_ get you for your birthday?" He's wearing Josh's clothes—an old band t-shirt and a pair of basketball shorts. His lips are red from kissing Josh. His hair is messy from kissing Josh. His cock is half-erect from kissing Josh.

Josh, meanwhile, is cool. He's sitting next to Tyler's stretched-out body, both their legs hanging from the bed. Tyler is swinging his. Josh is on his phone. "Oh, you know, nothing really. Some stuff for the apartment."

"Like what?"

"TV." Josh smiles. "Came in a big box."

"We're gonna do _something_ with that box." Tyler sets a hand on his stomach. "I don't know what. Get anything else noteworthy?"

Josh shrugs a shoulder. "I mean, it's basic housewarming shit. Towels."

"Towels."

"Yeah."

"Are they already at the apartment?"

"Yeah. You could have gone with us if you didn't have work."

Tyler frowns. Josh frowns. Tyler smiles, and Josh smiles, too.

"What about your drums?"

"I think they're going to be moved around the same time you move your piano. Only seems fair, right?"

Tyler nods. "I suppose." He runs his tongue along his lips. "Hey, Josh."

"Yeah?" Josh plugs his phone into its charger.

"How soon until we can move in?"

"You said by the end of summer."

"I take that back." He sits up. "So, how soon until we can move in?"

Josh's heart races. His mind can't stop. "Maybe, like, I don't know—Monday?"

"Monday!" Tyler throws his hands into the air. "Really? Oh, gosh, what if we—no, wait. What am I gonna tell my parents?" Tyler loses his excitement. Frankly, Josh does, too. He lowers his head, staring at the bed covers as Tyler talks in circles. "I still have so much stuff to pack, and what will my parents think if I don't come home one day? I think they're getting tired of seeing me leave every night, even if they love you and support me. I mean, I'm a baby, actually, because I'm getting sick at the thought of telling my parents I'm moving out. But shouldn't they be happy? I would be happy if my child was moving out. Dude, what if they hate me? No, what if they want to see it? What if they hate me because I didn't let them see it before we moved in? Josh, what if they think we're moving in _as friends_?" He looks at Josh. "Josh, what if they think we're _just friends_?"

Josh has lain on his back during this tirade. He's found patterns in the paint on the ceiling. "We can—"

"No," Tyler cuts in, shaking his head. "We'll do that later. Maybe we don't actually _move in_ on Monday, but we can… spend time there? Get it ready. Maybe we can officially move in—"

"The fifth of July."

Tyler blinks. "Huh?"

"After the holiday. Let's… wait until then?"

Tyler climbs on top of Josh and sits on his hips. "I like that."

"I like _you_."

Josh's face becomes Tyler's haven for small, breath-taking kisses. "I like you, too."

*

The rain falls like hail. It smacks into windows, shakes Tyler's car, and ruins the grass. When they step out, it's like a swamp, their shoes squishing as they race toward the building, tugging their hoods over their heads to keep them in place. The ends of Tyler's jeans are rolled up, far too much for it to be a simple aesthetic choice, and Josh wishes he had thought of doing the same. His feet are soaked. He has to take care every time he places his foot on hard flooring, or else he'll slip. Tyler is worse off. He's wearing vans, no friction whatsoever. He's holding Josh's hand, their windbreakers drenched, their chests hurting from running. "We're safe," Tyler says, and curls his fingers into Josh's. "I'm sorry. This is my fault. I—"

"Shut up." Josh brings Tyler's hand to his mouth, kissing his knuckles. "I wanted to come, too."

Tyler waves vaguely, his shoulders shaking from chill and lack of oxygen. "Lead the way."

It's Monday afternoon. The skies are gray, dirty, the clouds puffy with oil-colored cotton. Tyler stayed true to his word. He called Josh when he got off work and reminded Josh they were to go to the apartment today. "I told my parents I was hanging out with Mark. We can't stay long. I have a thing tonight."

Josh didn't invite himself. He'll let Tyler do that. Tyler's call was placed when it was sunny out with clean clouds overhead. There's a storm brewing, loud, with thunder. Tyler hasn't let go of Josh's hand once, although Josh blames that on the anticipation of seeing their first apartment together. Tyler might feel like he'll get lost if he were to let go of Josh's hand, like Josh was his mom in a department store. Tyler's grip is iron tight. Josh welcomes the numbness in his fingers, at least for a moment. Once they're by the door, Tyler releases Josh's hand. It feels funny, pins and needles. Tyler apologizes again. Josh shakes his head and finds the key in his front pocket, stuffing it into the lock.

Tyler's reaction is exactly what Josh expected, albeit a tad more dramatic. Tyler drops to his hands and knees upon entry, and his eyes go wide. He looks everywhere, his gaze never settling on one corner for long. The smile never leaves his face.

It's not the best apartment, but it's the best they can afford. Josh and his family hadn't started taking things out of boxes; they left that up to Josh and Tyler. With Tyler here, and knowing how emotional he can get, Josh estimates their unpacking to take a month, maybe less, if they're lucky. But Tyler is already working, standing upright and opening up a box. He finds video games, a few books—none of which really captures his interest, and he works all the same. Josh's dad lent them some tools to put together some furniture, saying if they were to do it themselves, it would really test the strength of their relationship. Since the contents of the first box call for a bookshelf, they put together a bookshelf first. It's small, nothing fancy, and it doesn't make their heads hurt at the end.

Tyler is good with his hands. He peeled off his shoes, shrugged off his jacket over the back of their secondhand couch, rolled up the cuffs of his jeans higher, and started working. Josh stands by the door for a good half hour, just watching Tyler open the box and set out all the pieces. Despite how loud the storm is outside, Tyler isn't distracted. The boy on the landing with a death grip on Josh's hand has vanished, only to be replaced by a carbon copy with a knack for _building_. It does scare Josh how quiet Tyler is, but Tyler isn't tuning out Josh, nor is he actively worrying. It's _odd_ , really. Josh has never seen Tyler like this, in his own world, concentrating and creating. Is this how he's like when he's writing songs? When he's composing on the piano? Josh's chest hurts, and it isn't from running outside.

"Hold this for me?" Tyler turns his head. "Have you been standing there this entire time?"

Josh is still in his shoes, his feet floating in water. His jacket is dripping a pond of its own in their designated living room area. "Yeah." He grins bashfully. "Sorry."

Tyler shakes his head. "It's fine. What were you thinking about?"

Josh unzips his jacket. He toes off his shoes, his socks after that. "I don't think I've ever seen you like this, Tyler."

Tyler is confused. "Like what?"

Josh is at a loss for words. "I don't know. Just… here."

Tyler is like this when he's winning in _Mario Kart_ , Josh remembers. Sometimes his tongue would poke from his mouth. Tyler isn't doing that now, but Josh will watch for it later. He sits next to Tyler, holding the piece Tyler wanted him to hold. Tyler begins inserting a screw. "What were you feeling, at the door?"

Josh shakes his head. It's stupid, but it _isn't_. "Overwhelmed." He studies the back of Tyler's head as Tyler leans forward. "I love you, Tyler."

Tyler doesn't stop working. Nothing can stop him. "I love you, too, Josh." It's bland, plain, monotone coming from him. At the same time, it's full of life, of energy. It's matter-of-fact, and Josh _loves_ Tyler.

When the bookshelf is put together, Josh finds the instructions still in the box. "Wait, did you look at these?"

Tyler slides the bookshelf in front of the sofa and matching recliner. He makes sure it's centered. Josh thinks if he were to grab a tape measure, it would be perfect. "No."

Josh loves Tyler. He loves him so much.

Tyler lifts the first box from the pile. He sits on the floor and begins stacking, books on the top shelf, video games down lower. On closer inspection, Josh realizes everything is in alphabetical order.

There are no clocks on the walls. They have to rely on their phones. For most of their time spent here, their phones have not left their pockets, not even for a little peek. They're in the zone, working in silence—Josh watching Tyler work, mostly, if he's being honest. They've put together a kitchen table and its three dining chairs. As they were installing them, they discussed the logistics behind having only three chairs at the table when it's normal to have either two or even four. Eventually they come to the conclusion either they were lucky to get three when they were supposed to get two, or unlucky to get three when they were supposed to get four.

Tyler is opening the box for the bed when his phone rings and when they are brought back to reality. Josh rubs his eyes, and Tyler answers his phone after cursing at the time and the caller ID. "Yeah? This is Tyler, yeah." Not his mom then; they should be okay. "I lost track of time, Jenna, I'm sorry. Give my slot to someone else. I won't be able to make it tonight." Josh rubs his eyes some more. It must be eight, maybe even nine. They've spent far too long here. It's dark out, and that isn't because of the storm. It's sprinkling now, making small rebounds in the puddles on windowsills.

"I dunno about tomorrow," Tyler says, his phone between his shoulder and ear as he continues to open the bed box with a pocketknife. "I'm in the process of moving in with my boyfriend." Tyler's face brightens. "Yeah, first time living together." He beams, keeps glowing. "I'm really excited, yeah. I think I'm going to like it. Thanks." Tyler laughs. "See ya later, Jenna. I'll text you when I can. Bye." His phone goes back into his pocket. His blinding aura stays. "It's nine fifteen. Guess I'm not performing tonight." He doesn't look bummed. He's still fucking smiling. The box opens. Tyler pulls out parts. "I think if we get this put together in the next hour or so, we could wrestle the mattress on and sleep here tonight." He pauses in his collecting, looking at Josh. "What do you think?"

Josh kisses him.

Tyler kisses him.

"I'm taking that as a yes!" Tyler goes back to building, and Josh goes back to watching. This might be the happiest Josh has ever seen him, especially when he gets a hammer in his hand. He doesn't even need to be doing anything with the hammer. Merely holding it brings him joy.

The bed frame is built within the hour. They struggle with the mattress. It's a queen size, really spoiling themselves. Josh's parents had the help of the moving men to lug it up here and lean it against the wall. They said they would help when the time came to moving it once more, but here Josh and Tyler are, on a Monday night, moving in early, and trying to avoid throwing out their backs while lifting the mattress.

"Did your parents get bed sheets?" Tyler climbs onto the mattress, sitting on his ass and smiling to himself. "Stuff like that, I mean."

"Yeah, they're—"

Tyler's phone rings. The expression on Tyler's face tells Josh it isn't the girl from before. He answers, standing near the window. "Hello?" Tyler sticks his fingers into the blinds and looks outside. "I'm with Josh," he says. Josh looks at the back of Tyler's head, eyes widening. They return to their normal size once Tyler begins to talk again. "We were talking about it, yeah. Why? Do you need me home?" Tyler bangs his head against the wall. Josh smiles and turns around, finding the bed sheets. He unfolds them as he listens to Tyler continue beating his head into the wall. It's soft, nothing to worry over. "Mom, I _really_ want to spend time with Josh tonight."

The sheets are soft, new, and Josh slides across them to tuck in each corner. Tyler is looking outside now, his fingers curling around the blinds. "I think you know why," Tyler says, his voice low. Josh glances at him at this, his eyes growing in size again. They get even bigger at Tyler's next words. "Mom, honestly, have you not figured it out yet?"

Apparently she hasn't, or has given Tyler an answer he didn't want; Tyler is spinning, his back to the wall, his eyes rolling. "Okay, I'll be home in a few minutes. Love ya. Bye, Mom." His phone goes in his pocket. He's frowning, staring at the bed, at the blue bed sheets and the pillows now in Josh's arms. The sight brings only a weak smile to his lips. It's gone within seconds. "Mom wants me home. She said I need to do the dishes."

"Does she know about us?" Josh asks.

Tyler shrugs. "I don't know. She was acting clueless." He sighs. "We're gonna need to do this later."

Josh sets the pillows on the bed. "We did a lot. We'll do more later."

*

Later comes much later. But it's the Fourth of July now, and Josh is at Tyler's house, sitting on the back porch steps with Tyler next to him, drinking a Coke and smoking a cigarette. Tyler's parents are poking around a bonfire, speaking with some neighbors. The smoke from Tyler's cigarette can be mistaken for the exhale of the bonfire, though Josh still sees the stares from Tyler's mom, from the corner of her eye. His dad is a lot more obvious. Thankfully Tyler is a master of stealth—which means every time suspicions rise, he passes the cigarette to Josh.

"You're an ass," Josh says, pretending to be the one to blow out the smoke in front of their faces. "I'm trying to quit."

"It's either this or alcohol. And they'll notice the alcohol quicker."

"We're legal!"

"Why would I get drunk around my parents, Josh?!"

Tyler's siblings know he smokes, and Tyler doesn't try to hide it from them. His brother even bums one off Tyler, going around front to smoke it in the company of his friends. Tyler is a good big brother. Son, on the other hand, is hit and miss. Parents tend to think kids who dabble in drugs are disappointments, so their scolding when they finally full-on see Tyler smoking is not out of the ordinary. Tyler's panic is normal, too. He doesn't even try to pawn it off on Josh, not when the cigarette is between his fingers and smoke is leaving his lips as he laughs at a stupid joke Josh made.

The moment passes, as it does. Kids will learn from their mistakes. When they finish the cigarette, they don't light another.

It takes forever for it to get dark. It wasn't that hot today, barely reaching eighty degrees. Tyler is sporting a cut-off shirt, leaning back with his arms behind him, on the porch step above them. Josh can see light definition in Tyler's arms. Josh moves closer to Tyler. Tyler's smile is quick, disappearing as he tilts his head back to finish the last of his Coke. He sets the empty can beside him. Neither of them sees it for the rest of the night, not like they were trying their best to keep up with it anyhow. Tyler gets up to grab food once or twice, mostly hot dogs. "Hey, Josh," he says, mouth full, "is a hot dog a sandwich or its own thing?"

"Shut up," Josh says, then adds, "It's totally its own thing, Tyler. Come on, man."

The guy who lives at the end of the street has the fireworks. Everybody moves into position to watch, fixing lawn chairs and spreading out blankets. Josh and Tyler don't move. People go around them, not saying a word. Josh lazily throws an arm around Tyler's shoulders, and Tyler's body turns the slightest bit toward him. Subconsciously done or not, they don't raise eyebrows. They don't even attract attention when they start kissing—though this is done when the first firework goes off.

Josh is the one who leans in, and Tyler is happy to oblige. Their lips are stationary, exchanging pecks that turn into playful nips. Tyler giggles, breathless sounds that only Josh can hear. He touches Josh's cheek, his thumb rubbing along the thin facial hair there. Tyler kisses Josh again, slow, more tongue than is appropriate at the moment. Josh presses their foreheads together, and Tyler is all over that, tilting his head from one side to the other, his nose nuzzling into Josh's cheek, lower to his neck. Josh holds Tyler close during this, eyes shut, listening to the fireworks, licking his lips. Tyler tasted just like he did on New Year's.

Like Tyler getting caught with the cigarette, he's caught snuggling up to Josh. The action is innocent, timid, intimate. Tyler isn't doing anything _bad_ per se, but apparently it isn't considered an activity that should be done while fireworks are being set off. Tyler's sister sees them first, and next to her, Tyler's mom sits and notices her daughter's gaze has turned elsewhere. Josh meets eyes with her and promptly nudges Tyler. Tyler reluctantly raises his head, caught up in their world built for two. His face changes when he notices Josh's startled expression, and it changes into something frightening at his mom. It's a look that belongs in a horror film, to some person about to be brutally slaughtered. Josh thinks, if he tries hard enough, he can hear Tyler's heart pound, pound, _pound_ in his chest.

Nothing happens then. No, it's after the fireworks have finished. Tyler stands with a start, his feet unbalanced and in position to flee. Josh wonders where Tyler would have run to, if given the chance, but it doesn't happen. Josh's thoughts falter. Tyler doesn't run. He meets his mom halfway, next to the house, out of earshot from the neighbors and Tyler's siblings, but not Josh. Josh acts like he can't hear. He sits there and watches the cleanup unfold.

"I'm sorry," Tyler says. "That wasn't… appropriate."

"It's fine."

"Is it obvious now?" he asks, his arms crossing over his chest. "You know now. What are you going to do?"

She furrows her brow, shaking her head in confusion. "I'm not going to do anything, Tyler. What did you expect? Do you want me to yell? To cause a scene?"

He's quiet.

She continues, "I feel like yelling, but it's not because of you and Josh. Josh is a good kid." She mimics Tyler's posture, her arms crossing. She even leans her weight on a leg. Tyler is a clone. "I was cleaning yesterday, Tyler, and your room is practically empty. Where's all your stuff? Did you _sell_ it? Are you…? It's not drugs, is it?" She might as well take back the comment about Josh being a good kid if her assumptions are going to come to this conclusion.

Josh rolls his eyes at the same time Tyler does. They're already in sync with each other. "Mom, I don't do drugs. Are you seriously asking me that right now?" Tyler rubs his hands over his face. "It's not anything _sinister_ … or whatever. It's just that I, uh, I, I'm moving out. Trying to. In the process… of. With Josh. I'm moving in with Josh. We're going to live together. In an apartment. Me and Josh."

Is he Tyler if he didn't stutter over his words? Josh covers his mouth to keep from laughing. Poor guy.

On both sides, it's quiet. Tyler's mom breaks it. "Oh, Tyler, I don't care about that. I'm relieved, actually. At least it isn't…" She sighs. "Why didn't you tell me before, Tyler? Your dad and I could have helped you."

"I don't know."

She hugs him. Tyler reacts positively.

The next thing Josh knows, he's being hugged by Tyler's mom, too. She's sitting where Tyler was, her arms around Josh's neck, and Josh hugs her back, not questioning it. Tyler is in front of them, smiling, his eyes a bit wet, but he's holding up, and he's _happy_. Josh loves him so much.

Josh thinks two dozen anvils have been lifted from Tyler's shoulders. He's more relaxed than ever. Tyler might end up flying away if Josh takes his eyes off him for too long.

"Think we're going to head over there tonight. Do you care if we slip out?"

"Not at all, Tyler. Have fun."

First, though, Josh and Tyler go upstairs and pull Tyler's keyboard from the closet. They take it apart and carry it to Tyler's car. Tyler is skipping. Josh can't believe it, but he can believe it. Tyler is floating. Tyler is so fucking happy.

*

"Do we have Internet yet?" Tyler asks, fiddling with the TV remote. It's searching for channels, taking forever.

"Should have it by next week. Maybe." Josh is propping the TV box on a wall, far away from any other furniture. "We don't need Internet."

"Josh, you're lying. Can't believe you just lied to me like that." Tyler tosses the remote onto the couch, heading into the kitchen and peeking into a drawer. He grabs a handful of silverware, going back to Josh and the box. "Have an idea."

"Looks like a bad idea."

"Shut up." Tyler puts the silverware on the floor, the clank of silver loud, but not as loud as the festivities outside. "We're going to play a game." Tyler picks up a fork.

"Sounds like a bad game."

"Shut up." Tyler points at Josh with the fork. "We're going to throw these at the box. Whoever gets the most, um, things in the box wins. Loser has to give the winner a blowjob."

Josh starts sorting out the silverware, dividing it up equally. It wouldn't be fair if one of them got more knives than the other. "What if it's a tie?"

"Won't be a tie." Tyler slides backwards, bare feet against the hardwood floor. He lines himself up with the recliner, a reasonable distance from the television box. "But if we do tie, it's obvious what we do."

"And what's that?" Josh has to get another spoon from the kitchen. He drops it in Tyler's pile.

"We gotta sixty-nine." Tyler throws the fork. It sticks. He smiles.

*

At the last minute, Tyler catches up with Josh, his spoon smacking into the cardboard box and striking it with the handle. "It counts," Tyler says, getting his breath back into his lungs after holding it during his last throw. "It counts; don't say it doesn't because it does, Josh. Josh, it counts. It's in the box."

They collapse on the sofa, pulling off pants and settling down. Tyler climbs on top, and Josh holds onto Tyler's hips, and Tyler sucks Josh's cock, and Josh sucks Tyler's cock, and it's a lot more pleasant than Josh expected it to be. Slowly, they rotate onto their sides, hands touching thighs. Tyler is more languid, despite this being his idea in the first place. He bobs his head at an even pace, eyes shut, taking his time, while Josh spits and works whatever he can't fit in his mouth with his fist. The angle causes their necks to hurt, but they're into it, and they really have no room to complain.

Tyler comes before Josh. He doesn't stop as he shoots his load down Josh's throat, not even when his hips are twitching and Josh has to hold him in place to keep from choking. "Shit," Josh hisses, watching Tyler with heavy-lidded eyes. Tyler is pink everywhere—his cheeks, his ears, his chest. Josh soon joins him, Tyler swallowing with no difficulty. He collapses against Josh once he's done, his head on Josh's thigh, close to his knee. He's panting. Josh, too.

Tyler starts to snore. Josh doesn't want to disturb him. They sleep.

*

They go to work in the morning.

Tyler texts Josh on his break. _we hanging out tonight?_

_Are you available?_

_i wouldn't be asking if i wasn't_

_Right._

_mind if i bring beer? i said i was gonna drink the first night we spent together there and that was yesterday and i was as sober as a nun_

Josh stares at the message. _Go ahead, Tyler_

_sick_

Tyler gets off at eight, but he's already at the apartment when Josh arrives. Josh is taking his drums home with him tonight, and his brother is helping him carry it inside. _Home_ is an odd concept to Josh. Home still conjures up an image of his parents, but now it's with _Tyler_. They'll eventually make it theirs fully. Only a few more boxes. Only a few more days.

Tyler is sitting on the sofa when Josh and his brother arrive. He doesn't acknowledge them, his eyes far off and on the TV. It's an infomercial. Don't buy into it, Tyler.

The drums go in the corner of the room, by Tyler's piano. Fifteen minutes tops is all it takes for the drums to get set up, and Josh's brother leaves right after. He tries to say hi to Tyler, but Tyler has closed his eyes by then, and Josh shoos his brother and explains Tyler's behavior on work. He can see the two cans of beer on the floor and the one currently in Tyler's hand. It doesn't mean he has to draw his brother to it.

When they're alone, Tyler's eyes are tired, and he's cracking open a fourth can. He told Josh he was going to be the rowdy neighbor when he drank here for the first time, yet Tyler is docile. His movements are sluggish, and he barely responds to Josh's voice or his touches. Josh begins to actually wonder if something did happen at work, and then Tyler is stretching his legs onto Josh's lap. "Wanna sin' you a son'," Tyler says, his voice groggy. He tries to stand. His feet aren't cooperating. Tyler goes back to the couch.

"You can sing me a song later, Ty." Josh takes the half-empty can of beer from Tyler's hand and places it on an end table. _Will it leave a ring?_ enters Josh's head, and he shakes it away. Not now. Not yet. He turns back around. Tyler's eyes are closed. This time, he's sleeping. For the second night in a row, they sleep on the couch.

*

Tyler is sleepy when he's hung over. New Year's was evident of that. Josh didn't know the extent of Tyler's drinking there, and had assumed Tyler just didn't handle his alcohol that well. Tyler said he didn't drink much, was only buzzed. And Josh believed him. He still believes him.

In the morning, Tyler acts as if he's sleepwalking. He stands and stays in place while he stands. Josh has to constantly set him back down, worried Tyler is going to fall over at any minute. Tyler is easily malleable. He goes where Josh puts him. And that's sad. This is really sad.

"Do you want me to stay home with you today?" he asks, after having guided Tyler to the couch for the third time this morning. Tyler had been in front of the TV, eyes glued on the corner of the screen. He's still staring at that same spot, but he's at a safe distance now.

"No," Tyler says. "I'll be okay."

Josh watches him. "Well, I get off at six."

"Okay."

"Text me if you need me."

"Okay."

Josh stuffs toast in his mouth.

Tyler lazily raises his hand and points at the TV. Josh hands Tyler the remote, and Tyler takes it and shakes his head. "Forgot my Nintendo."

"I'll get it. Your mom will let me get it, right?"

"I'll get it," Tyler says, but doesn't move to suggest he'll get it.

Josh finishes his toast. "Stay there. Yeah? We'll be okay." He kisses Tyler's forehead and swears he hears crying as he's leaving.

*

Josh gets the offer on July sixth, and he takes it with no hesitation. He's fucking overjoyed and waits to tell Tyler in person. So, with Tyler's Nintendo 64 and the games under his arm, Josh heads home. It still feels weird to say that.

Much like yesterday, Tyler is on the sofa, curled in on himself with his back to the arm. He's livelier this evening, his hair damp from a shower and wearing one of Josh's t-shirts. "Hey," Tyler says, and smiles. He surfs through channels. "You got it?"

"Yeah. Your mom was outside, so your sister let me in."

Tyler hums.

The bag goes next to the TV, bound to be installed either later tonight or in the next few days. Now since it isn't used as an excuse or a scapegoat for their sexual activities, Josh places his bet on tomorrow, maybe the day after tomorrow.

"Hey," Josh says. "I have some good news."

Tyler looks at him.

"I work with this guy who's in this band, right? Name's Brendon. Kind of out there, but I think you'll like him. So, he asked me to drum for a few shows, just until they manage to find a permanent drummer."

Tyler smiles. "Really?"

Josh nods. "Yeah."

"That's amazing, Josh! I'm proud of you." Tyler sits up, and Josh walks over. Tyler takes Josh's hand, holding it, their palms flat against each other. "When's the first show?"

"This weekend. Why? Do you want to come?"

"Of course I'm going to come, Josh. We're supposed to support each other. That's what we do."

This might be Tyler making up for not telling Josh about his nights at the bar. Or this might be Tyler wanting to watch Josh—genuinely excited to see him and all that. It might be both. There's nothing malicious behind it. Only love and only love.

Tyler goes to every show. None of the venues are exceptionally large, so Josh is always able to see Tyler. And Tyler is always smiling, his hands at his mouth as he shouts and cheers. Tyler bounces, too, dancing quite badly, but he's enjoying himself, and Josh is enjoying himself, and they're okay.

But each night, after the concert, they lie in bed, side by side, not touching, not even talking. The night after the first show, Tyler claimed the blanket for himself, and Josh wrapped himself with the bed sheet. He stared and stares at the back of Tyler's head until he's too tired to keep his eyes open.

Eventually some of Josh's shows align with Tyler's own events, and on those nights, Tyler is the one already in bed, blanket around his body and an overturned milk crate on the ground by his head. There's a flashlight duct taped to it, on, the light dim from either weak batteries or a weak bulb. It doesn't matter. It's a makeshift nightlight.

Josh keeps it on as he climbs into bed and sleeps with the bed sheet, his eyes on Tyler until they are unable to withstand a second more.

In the morning, Tyler is in the kitchen pouring cereal, and the flashlight nightlight is off and moved into a corner. It's then Josh notices the notebook on the floor by it, a pen stuck in the spiral spine. Josh recognizes it as a notebook from Tyler's bedroom, being stored into a cardboard box without prying eyes on the pages within. "Embarrassing," Tyler said. "Don't read."

Josh is in the kitchen pouring his own cereal. Tyler is at the table, a foot propped up on the third chair they were blessed or cursed with upon moving. Josh sits and says, "When's your next, like, thing?"

Tyler is eating Lucky Charms. He crunches loudly. "Tonight."

"I'm going."

"All right."

The car ride isn't as awkward as the first time, and for that, Josh is grateful. He wants nothing more than for them to be supportive of each other when it comes to music. It's tough out here.

Tyler is at his piano again, the woman from before helping him this time, too. Josh guesses she's Jenna, the one who called Tyler. She's in charge of this, then—must be. Why else? She looks familiar, like Josh should recognize her from somewhere. When his mind draws a blank, he passes it off as seeing her the first time he watched Tyler perform and doesn't dwell on it for longer than that.

Josh's table in the back is already occupied, so he sits closer to the front. Tyler had for his performances, and Josh should do the same. He doesn't smoke. He forgot his cigarettes in Tyler's car.

"Okay," Tyler says, standing with a hand on the microphone. "I'm gonna need you guys to start clapping. You hear me? It'll be near the end, and it's going to sound really cool. My girl Jenna here is gonna be the leader. When she starts clapping, follow her lead. Okay? You got that?" He sits, pressing down a few keys. "Here we go."

And Tyler sings. And his voice is beautiful. And it's everything Josh needed and more. And when Jenna starts clapping, the whole room follows suit. Tyler was right: it sounds cool—really fucking cool. It's steady and echoing, and Tyler is smiling throughout it, doing his own little dance in his chair as he sings, the room singing with him. The words are simple, the words are empowering. Josh shouts and claps. Jenna laughs at the end, and Tyler stands at the end, and he's leaving the small stage and going to Josh at the end, and they're kissing at the end, they're hugging at the end, there's applause at the end. There's applause at the end.

The car ride is better. They're each talking over the other, too excited to listen. It's perfect. It's beautiful. Tyler is beautiful. He's pulling Josh to bed, his hands on his shoulders, his lips on Josh's neck. "Do you think these walls are thin?" Tyler asks. "Do you think the neighbors will hear us through the floor?"

They don't find out. Jenna is calling Tyler. She wants him to come back tomorrow, and he agrees. He has to agree.

And then, they lie in bed, Tyler with the blanket and Josh with the bed sheet. Josh stares at Tyler. Tyler doesn't stare at him. He wonders what's wrong, but he doesn't ask. Tyler might be asleep.

*

They're in a park, keeping to themselves under a tree behind the swing sets. Tyler is sucking on a popsicle, his lips red and wet. White sunglasses are on his face, his arms bare and dark. If there weren't children nearby, he would be shirtless.

New lines wrap around Tyler's left arm. Josh came home and found the fresh ink. "Are you mad I didn't tell you? I wanted it to be a surprise."

"It's fine. I don't care."

Josh has an appointment next week to start his tattoo sleeve. He hasn't told Tyler.

Tyler licks up the side of his popsicle. "What was it…? For better or for worse?"

"Are you proposing to me, Tyler?" Josh is eating his own popsicle, albeit less suggestive than Tyler. "Or just wondering?"

"Just wondering. That is what it is, right?"

"Right." Josh thinks for a moment. "In sickness and in health."

"Oh, yeah." Tyler scratches his nose. "You know what? I think if I were to kill myself, I'd do it here. A bit public, but it's better than you finding me in a puddle of my own blood in the bathroom or something."

Josh is wearing sunglasses of his own. Tyler can't see his eyes, can't see the terror and the concern in them. Tyler can't see. Josh can't see. "You know, from slitting my wrists. Blowing my brains out. I'd probably do it in the bathtub, if I was going that way, but I'm not. I'm gonna do it right here, right under this"—he looks up—"cherry tree."

Josh looks at his feet. His popsicle is melting onto his fingers. It looks like blood.

"If I were to die right here, right now," Tyler says, his lips popping off his popsicle with a nauseating smack, "then I would die happy."


	3. Exhibit C

In a year, their apartment doubles in size. They can watch the fucking sun rise and set instead of counting the bricks on an abandoned building from their window. It's peaceful, and Tyler's parents help them move in this time around.

This new apartment is more of a home than the last. These walls are thicker and the carpet in their bedroom is softer than anything Josh has felt before. It belongs in a nursery, in a room for children with texture aversion. On the first night, Tyler spends it on the floor. Josh chalks it up to the carpet. He doesn't like thinking of the alternative.

Tyler is in the en suite bathroom now, gloves on, the tips stained dark green, almost black. He's working, his tongue poking out the corner of his mouth. Dark circles are under his eyes. He stayed up late last night, putting together a desk for their spare room. They don't have any idea what they're going to use it for, but their instruments are in it, so it's taking _some_ form. Tyler tends to keep to himself in that room, sitting on the floor as he writes in a notebook or plucks strings on his new ukulele. Josh bought it for him on a whim. "I remember you saying you wished you could play one. I thought… I don't know what I thought."

Tyler burst into tears. Josh moved to hold him, but Tyler pushed him away and left the room. Josh found him on the back porch, curled in on himself, his forehead to his knees, as he perched on the steps. He wasn't smoking, just seemed to be sitting there, so Josh let him be. Everybody needs a good cry, even if the reason behind it appeared to be lost.

The first song Tyler learns is "Can't Help Falling in Love". By the end of that, Josh had been in tears. Tyler stared at him, and then left. He came back thirty or so minutes later, a thing of Oreos in his hand and a glass of milk in the other. That night, Tyler curled up behind Josh and held onto his hip. They went to sleep happy, and in the morning, they woke up happy. They even kissed each other—lazy kisses, but kisses all the same.

Today, Tyler is in the bathroom, mixing hair dye for Josh. His fingers are dark green, but the goop in the cup is a much lighter shade than that. He switches out gloves before applying it to Josh's hair. Josh sits on the toilet in wait, an old t-shirt on with his boxer briefs. His hair is blond, bleached a week ago. Josh went home with no intention on telling Tyler what he had done, in hopes Tyler would be more excited if he were surprised. But he only gave Josh a look with those tired eyes of his and climbed the stairs to sit in the spare room for the rest of the night.

It was Tyler's idea for Josh to dye it green, so he's doing it for Josh, being mindful to not let the dye touch skin it shouldn't be touching. He may be exhausted, but Tyler is careful. His tongue is poking out the corner of his mouth.

"Okay," he says, discarding his gloves into the trash can. "Now we wait."

"Now we wait."

*

Tyler sleeps with Josh tonight, his arms cradling Josh's head as his nose burrows in Josh's seaweed locks. Tyler said he'll detach himself after a moment—the dye will most likely stain his face—but it's been more than a moment, and Tyler is sleeping. It's quiet, his body warm and heavy and familiar next to Josh. Josh hates that he can't recall the last time Tyler has spent any length of time in this bed without them fighting over blankets or whose pillow is whose. These fights aren't harmless jests; sure, they seem to start off that way, from an outsider's perspective, but their words are knives, and when Tyler finds out which pillow is his, he wraps his fingers around the corner of the cushion and beats Josh with it. Josh never participated in pillow fights as a kid, but he knows they aren't supposed to be this violent.

On those nights, Tyler leaves the bedroom and disappears. Josh typically sees him the following evening. They don't talk about it.

This, though… _this_ is special. Tyler is drained, his eyes closed and his cheek to the crown of Josh's head. Josh hopes his dreams are happy—whimsical and happy. Tyler needs it.

*

Tyler has nightmares. Josh wakes to a death grip on his hair and the back of his neck. Tyler's chin is resting at the top of his head, eyes wide and breath coming out noisy and congested. Josh is still. He is a scratching post.

"Tyler?"

Josh listens to Tyler hold his breath. He doesn't exhale for quite some time. "Go back to sleep," he says.

"You go back to sleep," Josh mumbles.

Tyler closes his eyes. "You go back to sleep."

*

Based on assumptions only, Josh's dreams are better than Tyler's. They're dirty, best not shared with anyone. Josh wants them to come true. He wants to crawl under the blankets and run his tongue along Tyler's body to make him a whimpering mess. Josh thinks about doing it when he wakes, but Tyler is gone, and Josh was foolish to believe they would have sex.

*

Josh tries to spend time with Tyler as much as he can. When Tyler is at work, Josh visits him on break. They sit together and do nothing. Tyler says he isn't hungry, so Josh shouldn't bother getting them any food.

He's proud of Tyler. He is. He told him that as soon as Tyler said he got promoted to assistant manager. It was the same day, too, when Tyler let him know. Josh didn't have to find out on his own. He likes to think they're getting better at that.

There are times where Josh thinks Tyler isn't being entirely truthful, or he's deliberately lying or not telling Josh about something that's happened. He can't confront Tyler when this happens, though, because they're just thoughts, and Josh doesn't want to make problems if there are not problems at the start. Trust is important.

Tyler's legs are stretched over Josh's lap. Josh is retying his shoes, making the knots tight and comfortable. "I have a thing tonight," Tyler says, "if you wanted to come."

"'Course I want to come." Josh sticks his hand up Tyler's pant leg, rubbing his calf muscle. "How many songs are you doing?"

"Maybe three or four. I haven't really decided what to do. I wanted your input…?"

Tyler doesn't have to wait for long. "Like, that yesterday song… and, uh, that, um, must-be-tonight one… and… Are you going to have the ukulele with you?"

"I can. What were you thinking? 'Can't Help Falling in Love'?"

"Yeah, totally. If some newcomers despise you, end it on a high note."

Tyler smiles. "Thanks, Josh." He kisses Josh's cheek before going back to work. Josh walks home.

*

Josh sits in the front, as he always does, and claps and cheers the loudest. It's embarrassing, but Tyler enjoys it. He's blushing and smiling so much his face is going to hurt later. "This last one is for my man Josh. I gotta let you guys know beforehand that this isn't, like… a no-homo thing. This is full homo. I love this guy with my whole heart, and he deserves someone far better than me."

There are _aw_ s throughout the basement. Josh feels as if he might start crying in front of everyone. Tyler looks like he's going through the same experience. He presses his lips together to keep them from trembling, and he takes a long time getting his fingers into the right position. "Sorry," he mumbles into the microphone. "I'm not very good."

Laughter, and then Tyler sings, and Josh does cry there. He cries like this is the first time he's hearing it. Tyler jumps off the stage at the song's finish and runs toward Josh. They hug, as they tend to do when Josh is watching Tyler perform. Tyler is still holding his ukulele, the body against Josh's back, as his arms keep to Josh's neck. "I love you, you know that?" Tyler whispers into Josh's ear. "So much."

Tyler sleeps with Josh again that night, though he's in a more reasonable position. He's curled into a ball, sharing the blanket with Josh, and hopefully dreaming dreams that do not turn Josh into a buoy.

It's raining when Josh wakes, and Tyler is next to him. He's stirring, in that in-between stage of awake and asleep. An eyelid twitches and lips part. He's on his side, on his way to rolling onto his back. His lips are moving now, forming words that fall silent on Josh's ears. It's when Josh drags his hand below the covers that Tyler becomes vocal. "Josh," he sighs, already half-hard. His dreams must not have been plagues. Tyler rolls fully onto his back, his legs falling open, inviting, his hips arching off the bed. "Rub against me," he says. "I wanna come in my pants."

Coming in his pants feels very high school to Josh, but he jumps at the opportunity when Tyler requests it. He gets between Tyler's legs, his chest to Tyler's chest, his hips to Tyler's hips. Tyler is warm underneath him, Tyler's hands touching Josh's waist to keep him in place as they begin to move as one. Josh is slow at first, taking it easy, and Tyler lies back and enjoys it. Naturally, it progresses. Tyler wraps an arm around Josh's waist to keep him close, to press them closer. "Oh, yeah." Tyler leans their foreheads together, and Josh kisses him. It's a little gross, and Tyler's lips are chapped. They make do.

Tyler comes in his pants, Josh trying his hardest not to, but doing it anyway. They stay there while their high dissipates, panting in each other's necks. Tyler rubs Josh's back, gentle strokes of his fingertips. This is more than okay.

They shower together. Tyler is thin. Josh sees hipbones so sharp they can cut glass, his last row of ribs sticking out a bit, too. He isn't ugly—far from it, actually. He's just _different_ from the guy Josh met before, that's all. Josh hugs Tyler. Tyler tells Josh he's thinking about getting some chest tattoos. "Do you want to come with me?"

"Yes."

*

Getting chest tattoos means Tyler has an excuse to walk around their apartment with no shirt. He doesn't tell Josh what they mean, just explains that he thought they looked cool. On the left side of his chest, there are four boxes that resemble a door. Josh thinks the negative space might be a cross. It must have been intentional. There's something that looks like an hourglass on the other side. Josh realizes he doesn't need to know the meaning behind them. They're Tyler's tattoos, and Josh can appreciate them in appearance if not in purpose.

Tyler sits in the spare room and gets better on his ukulele. Sometimes he sings. Sometimes he raps. Sometimes Josh listens, and sometimes Josh eavesdrops. Guilt eats him alive. Josh goes downstairs and watches TV. It's better if he pretends he's alone, if Tyler is gone, if Tyler's voice belongs to a stranger.

*

Tyler returns to staying up all night in the spare room. The desk is put together, and they don't have any other plans to put in new furniture, so Josh lies in bed and loses sleep over what Tyler could be doing. When it's late like this, everything is quiet. At least Tyler is considerate when it comes to the late hour. Josh wishes Tyler would come into bed with him, would curl up next to him, would—hell—even sing him to sleep.

Tyler meets Josh downstairs every morning looking a little worse than the day before. But still every morning, Josh says, "Hey there, beautiful," and rubs Tyler's arm. Tyler smiles.

They go to work, Tyler dropping off Josh and picking him up at a text's notice. Tyler's car is even older, and the noises rolling out are even louder and even more concerning. And yet, they continue to ignore it.

"Do you want to go somewhere this weekend?" Josh asks, looking at the back of Tyler's head. "Dunno where we should go, but I want to go somewhere."

Tyler is on the couch, his eyes never leaving the television screen as he plays a video game. It's something new, something Josh picked up on his break. He didn't think Tyler would be into it, but he's playing it right now, his character already on level fourteen. Tyler only plays when Josh is around, just in case Josh wants to watch. He bought the game, after all.

"Must have somewhere in mind," Tyler says, his index finger holding down the trigger button. "Wouldn't have suggested it otherwise."

Josh watches a car catch fire. "I was thinking, like, an amusement park."

Tyler doesn't move his character, his hands still on the controller. People are talking to Tyler, but Tyler is turning his head to stare at Josh. Josh chews on the inside of his cheek. "I mean, we can go somewhere else."

"No." Tyler shakes his head. "No, I wanna go."

And they go.

Tyler's car barely makes it, but it makes it. It's August, kids in school, so the crowds are sparse, more attached to the shopping centers and the food vendors than any ride. Tyler runs to every attraction, Josh sprinting after him. They sit up front and dare each other to not hold onto the bar. "Is this a game?" Josh asks, and cracks his knuckles. "Are we going to keep score?"

Tyler creates a new note on his phone, typing out their names. They're already in a ride, waiting for everybody to board. "I'm keeping score."

"You better keep score."

"I am keeping score." Tyler sticks his phone back into his pocket, laughing. "Okay, we're keeping score, and… and, uh, what should the winner get?" The ride starts, the carts inching forward. Tyler crosses his arms over his chest. "I know what I want."

Josh copies Tyler's movements. "What do you want?"

It's nothing bad. Why would it be _that_? "That Squirtle stuffed animal we saw on our way here."

"Not fair, Tyler! You need to win that at some impossible game!"

"Then, you need to hope your hands don't touch the bar!"

They're shouting at each other, their shouts turning into laughter as they climb hills and go through loops and have, possibly, the most fun they've had in a long time.

They stuff their faces with greasy pizza bread as the sun vanishes over the horizon. Tyler's nose has a faint sunburn on it, pink, hurts to the touch. His phone is resting on the table between him and Josh, their tally board on the screen. Josh won't look at it. He knows the results.

"Is this garlic bread?"

"Josh," Tyler says, wiping his fingers on a napkin before he pokes Josh's bicep. "Josh, you lost."

Josh whines.

Tyler giggles.

When Josh sets his mind to it, he's actually pretty good at tossing rings onto bottle necks. Tyler is bouncing next to him, his smile never fading, his teeth never hiding. "Go, Josh, go!"

By the time the park closes, their bellies are full with cotton candy and Tyler has his Squirtle plushie. He's holding it to his chest, a skip in his step. Josh loves seeing Tyler like this.

And they go home.

Tyler's car doesn't make the return trip. Josh knows it isn't because they ran out of gas because he was the one to pump Tyler's gas before they left. So, they're stranded in the middle of the road, close to midnight, with no idea what's going on. Tyler is holding onto the steering wheel, his stuffed toy in the backseat. He doesn't move. Josh moves. He gets out of the car and tells Tyler to pop the hood. Smoke comes out. Josh shuts the hood and goes back into the car. Tyler hasn't changed: still wide-eyed, still quiet.

"I'm going to call someone," Josh says. "You can stay here… if you want. Turn on your emergency lights."

Tyler does. Josh climbs onto the roof of the car and pulls out his phone.

Cautious, Tyler's eyes are the first thing Josh sees when he manages to get hold of a towing company. Tyler is peeking over the roof of the car, half-crouching, half-standing, like he was trying to spy on Josh and assess the situation before he made an appearance. "C'mere," Josh says, and now Tyler is next to him, on the roof of the car. "They'll be here soon."

They end up waiting forty-five minutes. Cigarettes light one after the other. Tyler clings to his Squirtle, his head on Josh's shoulder. He might have dozed off. It's late. They're sore and tired. Josh tries to hold Tyler's hand, but Tyler feels static, a shock, and he pulls his hand from Josh's. It's sharp, fucking lethal. Josh slides off the roof immediately following this, Tyler not even trying to make up for what happened. He doesn't justify it, doesn't explain. Tears stick to Josh's eyes, but he doesn't let them drop.

The guy shows up around the forty-five-minute mark, an Uber driver right behind him. Tyler is standing by then, his arms hugging the Squirtle. He watches his car get towed. The guy says Tyler should be focusing on looking for a new car rather than getting this one fixed.

Needless to say, Tyler is quiet on the ride home, his body turned from Josh. Their driver is a girl with pink hair. She likes Josh's hair. "Thanks," he says, "my boyfriend did it."

*

It's wishful thinking, but Josh pretends everything is okay when they make it home. He tries to touch Tyler, hugging him, rubbing an arm, patting his back, _anything_ , but Tyler is shrugging Josh away again. Softer this time, Tyler mumbles an apology before he retreats into the spare room, the Squirtle tightly held to his chest.

Josh showers and goes to bed.

He dreams of New Year's, of stepping over Tyler's legs as he shouts " _Uno!_ " at his friends. The rat upstairs is bigger in Josh's dream. It's going around in a large wheel, crushing everybody in sight. Tyler finds him and drags him outside. It's sunny outside. It's sunny and snowing outside. "One," Tyler is whispering. "Two… three!"

Josh doesn't know why he was counting down. Tyler doesn't know either. They're rolling around on Tyler's bed, knocking down regional trophies and ripping up bed sheets and screaming and screaming and screaming.

Tyler is playing the piano, his fingers having fingers of their own. "Get up," he's singing, "get up, 'cause the world has left you lying on the ground." Jenna is there, and she's clapping, laughing, and Tyler is singing, "You're my pride and joy; you're my pride and joy."

Tyler is playing the piano. Tyler is singing, "We all need you now."

Tyler is shaking Josh. "Josh, wake up, I need you."

He's shaking as he shakes Josh, nose pink from a sunburn, eyes pink from crying, skin pale from blood loss. "Josh, please."

Hair damp from his shower, clothes damp from his cold sweat, Josh rouses. "What is it?" He rubs an eye, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. "Did someone call about your car?"

"N-no," Tyler says, and he's crying again, Josh as his witness. "I, I—oh, God—Josh, I—"

Josh sees it. He sees the blood. "Tyler, _shit_." Josh is wide awake now, taking hold of Tyler's arm and yanking him toward the en suite bathroom. Tyler goes on the toilet, his nose running, his eyes leaking. Things fall out of the medicine cabinet as Josh fights to stay calm and find _something_ useful.

"I, I, I was trying to open—no, I was making—no, I—I dropped—"

"Tyler, I'm going to need you to calm down." Josh finds a box of gauze and bandages in different sizes. He drops them on the floor. "Wash it off. I need to see the damage." As Tyler is turning on the faucet and sticking his hand and forearm under the stream of cold water, Josh grabs a towel from the linen closet. "Is it deep?" Josh asks, standing beside Tyler, setting the towel on the counter. It doesn't look deep. It's a clean red stripe, starting from the curve of Tyler's left thumb all the way down to about the middle of his inner forearm. "I don't think it needs stitches," Josh says, switching off the water and taking Tyler by the shoulders, putting him back onto the toilet. He reaches for the towel, dabbing at the water droplets left behind.

The cut isn't bleeding. Josh works quickly, in case it does begin to bleed freely once more. He spreads antibacterial ointment over a gauze pad and applies the bandaging, having to repeat this part many times over, as the wound is long. Josh doesn't think they even make gauze pads this long. He wraps everything up nice and neat afterward, not too tight, not too loose.

Tyler is sniveling above Josh, wiping his nose on his shoulder. The tears that roll down his cheeks are silent, accompanied only by gentle curls of his toes within red socks. He's wearing his jeans, hadn't bothered to get comfortable when they got home. Josh moves his hands to Tyler's waist, then, unbuttoning his pants. Tyler lets him, and stands to get them off faster. A sock leaves with Tyler's jeans. Josh rubs Tyler's thighs. "Where did this happen?"

"Kitchen," Tyler whispers.

Josh pats Tyler's ass. "Get in bed."

Tyler does. Josh goes downstairs, the lights in the kitchen left on—probably due to Tyler running upstairs to wake Josh. Why didn't he try to take care of it himself? Wash away the blood? He could have yelled for Josh then—what if Tyler had tried yelling for Josh? Josh was asleep. Josh didn't hear a thing.

There's a knife in a pool of blood on the floor, by the sink. Josh cleans it up the best he can, all the while wondering what Tyler was doing to end up cutting himself like that.

In bed, Tyler is curled into a ball. The blanket is his, wrapped around his small figure. Josh takes the bed sheet. This is nothing new to him.

*

They search for a new car. Tyler isn't as enthusiastic, despite him having to be the one to drive it. "Maybe you can learn how to drive now," Tyler says offhandedly, as he tugs on the sleeves of his thin jacket, hiding the gauze wrap on his arm.

"Driving stresses me out," Josh says, cupping his hands around his eyes to look inside the windows of a used car.

"You don't think it stresses me out?"

"Does it?"

"Yes, but I get over it."

"Yeah, I'll get back to you on that, Tyler."

Tyler rolls his eyes. He kicks the tire on a pickup truck. "What about this?"

"Are you serious?"

"What's wrong with it?"

Josh stares. It's used. The windshield has been replaced. The seats inside have cigarette burns on the cushions. "I'unno. Don't you think it's… small?"

"Small? Josh, it's just us." Tyler pulls on his sleeves again. "Christ, don't tell me you were thinking of—"

"Well, I _was_ , but I'm definitely not now."

Tyler shakes his head. He shakes it again for good measure. "Josh, okay, sure, kids would be great, but I don't want them _now_. We aren't even married, for Pete's sake."

"Do we need to be married?"

"I mean, it's—it'd be better if we were married. Wouldn't it?" Tyler bites his lip. "Doesn't matter. I want this truck. We'll get a, a, a stupid minivan when we reach the kids stage of our relationship."

Josh goes around the truck, stopping at the back and looking into the bed. He can imagine lying in it with Tyler under the stars. "What stage of our relationship are we at now?" he asks, but he already knows they're boyfriends. He likes to tease, though, and Tyler does it right back.

This, however, isn't teasing. Tyler shrugs a shoulder and looks for the owner of the car lot. "We're _something_ ," he says. "Don't even fucking know me."

*

It's when Tyler's character dies in the video game he's playing that Josh's suspicions raise to absurd levels.

Josh isn't even paying that much attention to Tyler playing. They're on the couch together—rather close, actually; Tyler's leaning against him—but Josh is on his phone, going through his calendar to sort out what nights he'll be available to begin drumming for Brendon's band again. Between the record store and Tyler's bar nights, Josh hardly has any time. On one hand, he wants to see Tyler perform as much as he can, but surely they should be able to be apart for one night? Maybe Tyler would back out of a set to watch Josh, since he's tried his best to be at every one of Josh's performances so far. Josh wouldn't feel right asking Tyler to give up his slot, considering how in demand he is right now. Tyler's _good_ , and Jenna's had to start paying him. He didn't used to get paid—none of the acts did. It was all for exposure, really, but Tyler is bringing business to the bar, so he deserves something in return.

If Josh misses a few shows, then so be it.

Josh is about to tell Brendon he's free whenever Brendon needs him to be when a loud explosion comes from the game. Tyler has a habit of blowing things up and getting himself blown up. Today, it's the latter. "Crap," he sighs, rubbing his eyes as he waits for the game to reload his last save. "I killed myself."

The game reloads. Tyler is nowhere near where he was previous. He's in a cabin, a radio on a table playing some fifties song. He grumbles, eyes narrowing, going through his list of saves himself. "Can't believe it didn't even autosave."

Josh looks at him, his thumbs moving up and down, his index finger pressing down the trigger button, until finally Josh's gaze rests on Tyler's forearm. Lightly bandaged, Tyler began to worry the cut would have ruined the tattoos on his wrist, but they were safe. "The cut wasn't deep," Josh reminded him, and Tyler smiled and said, "Oh, yeah."

Now Josh is wondering if Tyler meant the cut to be deep. Josh never found out exactly what Tyler had been up to in the kitchen when the knife seemingly slipped from his grasp. Dropped in a pool of blood, the knife was all Josh could find. The conclusion Josh is reaching is _bad_ and not bad in the good sense. More than ever does he want to be proven wrong. Outright accusing Tyler of something like _this_ is… bad—it's bad. It's bad. This is really bad.

Tyler picks up on whatever Josh is going through. He pauses the game to glance over at Josh. "Josh, hey." He sets the controller aside, twisting his body around until he's facing Josh. Tyler takes each of Josh's hands. "Look at me," he says. "Do what I do. It's going to be okay." Tyler inhales, holds it in, and then slowly blows it out. "Yeah? Just do what I do. In… and out. Yeah, that's it. That's good, Josh. You're okay. Breathe."

His behavior is not on par with what is going on in Josh's head. It doesn't make sense. Tyler shouldn't be acting like this. If he were to know what Josh was thinking, would he be helping Josh breathe? Or would he look at Josh with those eyes and go straight upstairs to the spare room? Josh is about to explode, just like the explosions on Tyler's game. He wants to shout at Tyler, wants to shake him, wants to yell and scream and cry. Josh doesn't.

Tyler smiles. "Better now?"

Josh gives a stunted nod. He'll tell Tyler if Tyler asks what happened.

But Tyler doesn't ask. He goes back to his game, goes back to complaining about his lack of saves and how he should have quicksaved before running into the fight. Josh leans against Tyler this time, and Tyler shifts closer. Josh watches him play. He closes his eyes at another explosion. Tyler squeezes the controller. "Killed myself again!"

*

Should Tyler be left alone? Josh can't suddenly become interested in everything he does now, though, can he? He can't sit in the spare room with him until the early morning hours, sleeping on the floor, doing… whatever. Josh doesn't even know what Tyler does up there. Is that something Josh can just ask?

Josh has had fleeting thoughts of Tyler… engaging in infidelity, but he definitely can't bring that up. That's even worse than accusing Tyler of trying to kill himself.

Is it? Josh doesn't know. He can't think on this for too long or else he'll start to have trouble breathing. After that first time, Josh doesn't want Tyler to see him like that again. He keeps his insecurities inside, kept coiled tight in the acid of his stomach.

But would Tyler try again? A month passes, and no other incident arises. Maybe it had been an accident. Josh hadn't hated himself for a very long time, but he hates himself now.

His self-loathing goes up even more when he hears a crash in the bathroom and Tyler cursing.

Josh jumps up and darts into the room, the door closed, shut, keeping him out. It's late at night. They're supposed to be in bed, and Josh is expecting blood, so much blood, but there's only hair on the floor. A lot of hair, it looks like it could be some sort of wild hare. Josh reacts the same way, no matter if the blood he predicted is dark brown hair. "Tyler, what are you doing?"

Tyler is standing in front of the sink, an electronic razor on the counter as both of his hands are preoccupied with rubbing his foot. Half of his head is shaved to a close crop. There's hair on his shoulders, on the sink, on the floor, even some that flew onto the toilet lid. He's staring at Josh, pain all over his face. "Josh, I'm serious, I think my foot's broken."

Breathe in, breathe out. Tyler's voice is in his head. "Put some weight on it."

Tyler gingerly places his foot back to the tile floor. He's able to stand on it with no difficulty, just the wince here and there.

"Gonna have a bruise there."

"Sick."

Josh tries again. "Tyler, what are you doing?"

"What does it look like?" Tyler retorts, picking up the razor and turning it on. It hums. Josh must be a heavy sleeper. He didn't even hear that. Tyler goes back to shaving his head, erratic patterns, not even being consistent as he goes about it. He presses the blades to the middle of his head at the start, and then goes to the left, to the right. His hands grip it with two hands, mesmerizing.

"Lemme," Josh says. No protest, Tyler gives him the razor. Josh gets the back of Tyler's head and any spots he missed at the top and each side. It's ridiculous, Josh even still finding it hard to breathe. Tyler's hair is so trivial. Hair grows back. But Josh can't help but think this means something, and now he's picturing those pamphlets he got in middle school about suicide and the warning signs. A sudden change in appearance is one. Does this count? Tyler shaving his head? No, Josh dyed his hair green. If anybody should be worried over, it should be Josh, based on that and that alone. But Tyler's lost weight. Does that mean anything?

"Thanks, man," Tyler says, taking the razor when Josh finishes. Tyler puts it down and rubs both palms over his scalp. He smiles at the feeling.

"Hey," Josh says. "Do me?"

"Right here, in the bathroom?" Tyler digs around for hair ties. "Take you on the counter?"

"Shut up." Josh smiles.

Tyler smiles. "Sit down. Not your whole head, right?"

"Right."

"Got it." Tyler grabs a handful of hair ties. His fingers catch on knots in Josh's bedhead. He manages to find the part in Josh's hair, taking the hair gathered in the middle and tying it off with the elastic bands he collected. Some are blue, others are red, and then the rest are the plain black. Tyler makes sure the hair is out of the way as he does this. He wouldn't want to mess this up.

He doesn't. Josh has a mohawk. It's curly. Josh's hair is curly. Josh touches the sides of his head, skimming along nothing but fuzz. "Thanks, man," he says.

"No problem, man." Tyler unplugs the razor. "Go back to bed. I'll clean this up."

"Nah, lemme help. Some of it's mine."

"How can you tell?" Tyler smiles.

Josh smiles.

They go to bed. Tyler snores. Josh doesn't dream.

*

Tyler cuts himself again. Josh is in the room when it happens, though he turned his head to pull a can of Coke from the fridge.

This cut is accidental. That much is clear. Tyler had been sticking a knife in a platter of brownies he made for Josh and him. Josh told Tyler to be careful, and as soon as Josh looked away, the knife slipped from Tyler's hand and cut his palm.

"Shit, shit, shit," Tyler hisses, as Josh holds his hand under the running faucet. "It hurts. Oh, my—it hurts so bad."

"You sliced open your palm, Tyler; of course it's going to hurt."

They hurry up the stairs, to the bathroom. Josh cleans the wound, wrapping it carefully. This cut is deeper, but stitches aren't needed. Tyler is shaking, crying again. He's been crying a lot lately. Josh hugs him, tight, secure, and Tyler hugs Josh.

"Thank you," Tyler whispers.

"You're welcome." Josh rubs Tyler's back. "It wasn't a problem."

Tyler won't go around sharp silverware for a few days. He eats everything with a spoon. Josh is reassured Tyler didn't hurt himself that first night. If he's this shaken over a cut from a knife, then him cutting himself on purpose makes no sense. Unless Tyler realized he didn't want to die anymore and was scared and saw his life flash before his eyes as that knife with the brownie crumbs slid along his palm.

Josh looks over. The bed is empty. Tyler is in the spare room. His Squirtle plushie is on his side of the bed. Josh holds it. It isn't Tyler, but Josh can pretend.

*

Josh has a show. Tyler drops him off, saying he would love to go, but he's going to get some sleep. Tyler's eyes are dark, the circles under them even darker. "Is that okay?"

"You rest. Take it easy."

Tyler kisses Josh's cheek. "Someone will drive you home?"

"Yeah, yeah."

Josh doesn't perform as well as he would if Tyler was there. He keeps looking at the front, at the barricade, expecting Tyler jumping around with his voice going hoarse.

Brendon points this out as he's driving Josh home. "Something going on?"

"Nah, just missing Tyler, is all."

"He couldn't come?"

"He's been… He was tired. Told him to sleep."

Brendon snorts. " _Tired_. Got it. Is that what they're calling it?"

"Calling what?"

They exchange looks. Josh breaks it. He shakes his head and looks out the window.

Despite honestly believing with all his heart that Tyler would never do that to him, Josh enters the apartment as quiet as a fucking mouse. Rats aren't quiet. They race on wheels and grow crowds who laugh.

The door to the spare room is shut. Their bedroom door is open. Tyler isn't in there. When they go to sleep, they crack the door. If the door is open, it's vacant. Josh chews on his cheek. So much for getting sleep; but no, Tyler might be sleeping on the floor of the spare room. Josh slowly breathes out.

Along with their bedroom door being open, the drawer to an end table is, too. Josh stands in front of it for a minute, and after that minute passes, Josh spends a minute searching the contents of the drawer. And after that minute passes, Josh sits on the bed and concentrates on breathing.

He hears a moan.

Josh leaves the bedroom, going down the hall. There's only silence on the other side of the spare room door—but then there's another moan, a quiet one, followed by some shushing, mumbling. Josh can't make out the words. Does he open the door? Does he let Tyler… finish? Josh feels like screaming.

He knocks. "Tyler, are you in there?"

A pause. "Y-yeah."

Josh slowly nods. "Can I come in?"

Another pause. " _Please_."

Tyler's tone raises Josh's eyebrows. He opens the door with no hesitation, then wishes he had waited for a moment or for two moments. Tyler looks frightened, flinching at the sound. Josh should have been careful, but he couldn't have known Tyler would be fucking himself in the spare room.

He has a towel on the floor, which he's sitting on—easier cleanup. He has a hand between his legs, the one with the bandage being used to prop himself up. It must hurt. Tyler is staring at Josh, his chest pink, his cock flaccid. "Can you help me?" Tyler asks.

Josh shuts the door, dropping to his knees. "How long have you been at this?" He finds the missing lubricant next to Tyler. "Could have stayed in the bedroom."

"I couldn't sleep. I tried, I really did, and I couldn't, so I thought if I got off, it'd help me sleep, and I can't even do that." He's whining, shaking his head. "Please help me, Josh."

Josh helps him, coating his fingers with the lube. He easily slides in two fingers, Tyler having had done that prior to Josh's arrival. Tyler settles onto his side, eyes closing, his injured palm up to the ceiling. "Thank you," Tyler mumbles. Josh draws out his fingers, pressing them back in without waiting. He listens to Tyler groan, his whimpers soft. "You're so good at this, Josh. Thank you, thank you, thank— _ah_." Tyler's elbows dig into the carpet, his hips twitching as he tries to grind down on Josh's fingers. "Keep doing that."

"Can I fuck you?"

"Yes, yes, yes."

After wiping their fingers on the towel, Tyler helps Josh undress. He works on Josh's lower half while Josh peels off his shirt. Josh's clothes go somewhere not important now. His shoes are kicked elsewhere. He kisses Tyler, and Tyler gasps into it, clutching the side of Josh's neck as he moves to lie on his back. Josh gropes for the lube. He squirts it into his palm, rubbing it over his cock.

He's inside Tyler. Tyler cries. Josh sucks on his neck. "Josh, oh, oh, you— _Josh_."

"Tyler."

Tyler wraps his legs around Josh's waist. "It feels so good. Just having you, you—Josh, it's been so—I'm so damn stupid."

"Quiet." Josh kisses his mouth, suckling on his bottom lip. "If you're stupid, I'm stupid, too."

Any coherent conversation falls away. They kiss and bite and fuck and fuck and fuck.

"You're going to bed," Josh says, "after I clean you up."

Tyler shakes his head. It's weak. "No."

"Huh?"

"Please leave me alone."

Josh blinks. "What?"

Tyler is crying. "Please. Josh. Leave."

Josh finds his clothing and leaves.

*

Josh listens to the low drone of some late-night cartoon. The door pushes open, Tyler ducking in and turning into the bathroom. The shower runs. Josh doesn't move.

Body warm, Tyler climbs into the bed. He settles down, his side pressing to the length of Josh's back. He smells clean, pure. Josh moves then, Tyler shifting to accommodate him. "Hm?" He's running his fingertips through his lack of hair. Does he miss it? Does he regret it? Hair grows back.

Josh kisses Tyler's shoulder.

"Go to sleep," Tyler says.

Josh throws an arm across Tyler's stomach. He goes to sleep.

*

"You know what?" Tyler is saying when Josh wakes. Josh has drool on his mouth. His throat is aching, rough. He dares not talk. "Josh, I really do love you."

There's a "but" in there somewhere. Tyler's looking toward the window, the curtains drawn, the blinds askew. He smiles. Josh rolls away and goes back to sleep.

*

Josh has a cold. Or something. He thinks he caught it at the show. "Keep eating, like, fruit. Vegetables. Eat healthy. I'll probably get you sick."

Tyler shakes his head. "Hush. Your voice is croaky. Sound like a frog."

"Ribbit."

Tyler's hand is cold against Josh's forehead. "Yes, ribbit."

*

When Josh sleeps, he doesn't dream. He wakes at sounds that wouldn't normally wake him: doors opening, feet on the stairs, the evidence of life. It was walking that woke Josh this time. Tyler's footsteps are distinct. These are not Tyler's footsteps.

Tyler closed the bedroom door sometime during Josh's nap, keeping out the noise of whatever is on the other side of the door. Josh opens it, catching the eye of a man in a baseball cap and a blue uniform.

Josh closes the door, standing by it until the unfamiliar footsteps cease. He leaves when he hears Tyler's feet, soft, bare, slapping along the hardwood. Tyler is rounding the corner into the spare room. Josh follows. He follows and sees the beginnings of a bed frame being built. There's a mattress leaned against the wall, kept away from Josh's drums and Tyler's piano. It's huge; it looks huge. Tyler is holding a hammer. His toes are painted black.

Josh turns around and goes back to bed.

*

Tyler is tired in the morning. Josh touches his arm. "You're beautiful," he says.

They sit at the table, four chairs now instead of three, and eat cereal. Tyler drowns pieces with his spoon. "Feeling better? You look better."

Josh smiles. "I am."

He goes to work today. Tyler says he has a day off. He kisses Josh on the forehead and walks upstairs.

Josh walks upstairs when he comes home. He's out of breath, walked home, walking upstairs. Tyler is in the spare room, tools put away, the bed fixed, the mattress on. Did Tyler throw out his back? He's standing, shoulders slumped, but that's how he stands.

"Hey," Josh says, arms wrapping around himself.

"Hi." Tyler straightens the bed covers, dark, like ink that stains carpet, that stains skin. "Thought this needed to look like an extra bedroom, you know? Just in case."

The bed's pushed to a corner, the right side knocked to the wall. It doesn't look as big now. It looks quite small, actually, definitely smaller than the one in their room. Josh curls his fingers around each arm. "Hey," he repeats. "I love you, you know that, right? No matter what happens." This is safe. This is vague. It opens the conversation for Tyler to confess anything and everything, rather than Josh having to accuse and fight and fight and cry and create problems when there might not be any.

Tyler is frozen. "This shouldn't be worrying you," he says. "It's not like… like, there's a bed that would be so big and, and wide to, to, to, uh, guarantee I won't accidentally touch you in the night."

Josh lowers his head.

"Because there isn't," Tyler adds. "I checked. I was curious. Mattresses are expensive." He sticks his fingers in his mouth, chewing on the cuticles, something Josh hasn't seen him do in years. "Besides, I like touching you when I sleep. Gives me good dreams."

Josh remembers Tyler clinging to him after a nightmare. Green dye was on his face, and he pleaded for Josh to go back to sleep.

Josh remembers shopping with his parents, who persuaded him to go with an actual bed for their first apartment and not the futon he was eyeing. "We're saving our money for more important things, Mom," Josh said, but they bought the bed for them, and he and Tyler came in on a rainy Monday and put it together. Josh realized he loved Tyler then, on that day. He loved Tyler. He _loves_ Tyler.

Josh wonders if anything's wrong. The obvious answer is _yes_ , but Josh shakes his head and walks and walks, and he sits on the back porch, and Tyler doesn't check on him.

*

The last place Josh wants to be right now is in the spare room. Bad enough he felt unwelcome while he practiced on his drums. With the installment of the extra bed, Josh has somehow managed to feel even more unwelcome. He tries to avoid it. He doesn't look down the hall when he goes upstairs. He doesn't seek out Tyler—not that he did much of that in the first place. It doesn't matter. Josh has found that nothing really matters, in the end.

It's a quarter past midnight, and Tyler is on his piano. He's playing loudly; Josh can hear it from the bedroom, the door closed, the spare room door closed, too. Tyler is loud. He's so loud. It's a quarter past midnight, and Josh is trying to sleep.

He pounds on the door. Tyler stops, the notes cutting off, ugly, painful. "What?"

"Go to bed."

"I'm working."

Is that what Tyler's been doing up here? Working? Josh sighs. "Tyler, I'm tired. _You're_ tired. Go to bed."

Tyler opens the door. "I said I'm working."

"And I said go to bed. Why were you being so loud?"

"It helps my head."

"What? Tyler, go to bed."

Tyler pulls Josh into the room and shuts the door behind them. "Listen to me."

"Tyler, I—"

Tyler is at his piano, though, playing again. Josh has no other choice than to sit down on the bed and listen. The music is simple, soft—not nearly as loud as Josh had heard it from the other room. Was Tyler deliberately playing louder, to draw Josh out and listen to him? Oh, Tyler.

This piece is definitely not the one Tyler played earlier. This piece can be a lullaby. It is a lullaby. Josh is falling onto his back and falling asleep and falling into dreams with clefs for people and humans as sheets.

The bed dips—Tyler. He sits next to Josh, his fingers moving as if he is still working. "It's not done. Obviously. I have a few lyrics, but there's… It's not done."

Josh hums. "Have a title?"

"A demand for… something."

He hums again. "You'll get there."

Tyler kisses him, his fingers still moving, still twitching as they thread through Josh's hair. "Okay if I do this?"

Josh nods. "Do more, actually. If it's okay."

"It is." The lube never made it to their room. Tyler finds it under the bed, the bad bed, the bed Josh does everything within his power to avoid. This bed is a curse. This bed is huge. This bed is small.

Tyler is between Josh's legs, kissing his shoulders, nosing his way into the crook of Josh's neck. "Like that? Nice and slow?"

Josh lazily hooks his legs on Tyler's hips. Sharp, stinging, scathing, they are anchors for hands. "I want it rough."

Tyler gives it to him rough. There's biting, scratching, hitting. An accidental elbow in the ribs starts it, but now they're actively hurting each other—teeth, nails, open palms, fists in hair, pulling, pulling, pulling.

They're bleeding and sobbing at the climax, breathing too much air and not enough air. All their muscles are sore. Their joints are stiff. They have skin under their nails and between their teeth. Their eyes are red, their lips are red, and all they can see is red.

They limp to the bathroom, Josh sitting down in the tub before Tyler. They're both wincing, collectively groaning as they run washcloths along bodies, drag broken lips along shoulders, and smile weary smiles.

"What was that?" Josh asks, rubbing his thumb into Tyler's chin.

"Fun," Tyler answers.

*

Tyler has a cold. Josh feeds him chicken noodle soup. "Yeah?"

It hurts to swallow. Tyler wraps a scarf around his neck. The fabric is warm and black, and it reminds Josh of bruises. Tyler opens his mouth. Josh gives him the next spoonful of soup.

*

Tyler gets into the habit of sleeping in the same bed as Josh again. Him getting sick was the catalyst. Tyler gives Josh narrowed-eye looks. He thinks Josh did this on purpose. Maybe Josh did, accidentally on purpose.

They sleep, lying side by side, not touching. Tyler sweats a lot. Sometimes he needs three blankets on him, and sometimes he needs to be completely nude. Josh tries to hold Tyler's hand every time he falls asleep, but Tyler rips it apart, like a child with a butterfly.

"'Implicit Demand for Proof'," Tyler announces, his nose stuffy, currently sat on the toilet.

Josh glances at Tyler. He flips through channels. "Talking to me or yourself?"

"Both. Everyone."

Tyler sings once he feels better. Josh sits in front of his keyboard and listens, hugging his knees and grinning. Tyler says it'll sound better later on, when he's completely healthy, but Josh shakes his head and says he's in love already.

"Don't change anything."

Tyler pecks at the keys. "Okay, Josh."

*

Tyler thinks it's a good idea to drive to a cemetery on Halloween night and sing to the ghosts. "They're not real," he explains, and proceeds to sing "Can't Help Falling in Love".

They're lying in the bed of Tyler's truck, on top of a blanket that's neither soft nor rough. Comfortably in the middle. Kind of like them. Whatever that means.

"Might be real," Tyler mumbles, and tugs the zipper of his skeleton hood down, concealing his face. "I saw something."

"What?" Josh laughs and sucks on a joint. "You're high. Saw nothing."

"Demons," Tyler goes on. "They were black and red, and their eyes were huge. Black, too. White. Darkness. With deep voices that give me chills and fever blisters."

Josh snorts. "What were they saying?"

Tyler pulls the zipper up a little, his mouth free, then up to his nose, his forehead. He takes the joint from Josh, breathing in, holding in, his face white, his eyes black, his lips red. "I can't tell you."


	4. Exhibit D

Josh is a firm believer in listening to Christmas music as soon as humanly possible. For most people, it's after Thanksgiving—and Josh sees no problem in those who wait at a more socially acceptable time to blast "Jingle Bells". But Josh is not most people, and he starts shoving old cassettes into their stereo the day after Halloween. He did it earlier, actually, maybe sometime in the summer. Christmas in July, he said, and Tyler listened to "All I Want for Christmas Is My Two Front Teeth" with him. After that, Tyler told him to wait until the latter half of the year. Josh protested the year was already half over in July, but Tyler shook his head and went upstairs.

Today, though, today is when Josh will unabashedly play the sounds of Christmas. He begins with "Jingle Bells" because it makes sense. Despite his heart's desire to blast it so the neighbors will hear, Josh keeps it at a low volume. Tyler isn't feeling well. His head is hurting.

They came home from the graveyard around three in the morning, after they sobered a bit. Tyler kept talking about the demons and ghosts he saw sitting on the tombstones. Josh recorded him, his phone hidden in his pocket. He meant it well. He didn't know _exactly_ how well he meant it, but he saved the recording and planned to show it to Tyler in the morning.

When he woke up, Tyler was gone. It was barely past nine in the morning. They should still be sleeping, and yet Josh found Tyler on the back porch, nursing a can of beer and rocking forward and backward. "You okay?" Josh asked, and Tyler nodded.

"You sure?"

"Just had a bad trip," Tyler mumbled. "Need to be left alone."

So, Josh left him alone, and now it's eleven in the morning. Josh is clean from a shower, his stomach is full with Cheerios, and Christmas music is playing. Josh sits in the living room, next to the stereo, and allows himself a moment of solitude. Tyler enters not long after that, the whites of his eyes pink and his lips bitten nearly to shreds. He stands in the middle of the room. "Can I stay in here?" His hand scratches the side of his neck, nails rubbing the skin raw. "With you?"

"Yeah." Josh beckons Tyler over with a wave. "Yes. Come here, Tyler."

He sits next to Josh, more on his lap than on the floor, but that's the opposite of a problem. Josh loops his arms around Tyler's waist, Tyler's own arms making their home on Josh's shoulders. Tyler's neck is warm from where he scratched it. Josh's nose presses to the rash, eyes shut. Tyler smells like alcohol and pure desperation.

"I, I, I think you need to dye your hair again," Tyler mumbles. "It's fading."

"Pick a color," Josh says. "You can help me dye it again."

Tyler's fingers twitch along Josh's shoulder, a drum line. "Pink, maybe. P-pink is a happy color."

Josh squeezes Tyler. "Pink is a happy color, yes."

They stand. "All I Want for Christmas Is You" is on, and Tyler says he wants to dance. "Careful with me," Tyler advises, a genuine smile on his face. "I'll be the girl."

Josh shakes his head and places a hand on Tyler's hip, the other tightly grasping Tyler's hand. "Shut up. You can be you."

"Okay." Tyler takes a step back as Josh steps forward. He's being careful and focusing more on not stepping on toes. While that's a sensible thing to worry over, Josh wants nothing more than to sweep Tyler away from all this and spin until they're in the exosphere.

Josh is about to do just that, about to curl an arm around Tyler's hips and lift him off his feet, when Tyler's arm catches his eye. It's visible, the sleeve of his sweatshirt rolled down from the dancing. From their hands clasped together, that would have brought attention, but Josh's subconscious must have blocked it out. It's unavoidable now—the three lines of Tyler's wrist tattoos, followed by three other lines, small, red, unmistakable. Tyler wore rubber bands around his wrist before he got the tattoos, and he would flick those into his skin until the skin would pink and bleed. Josh assumed the tattoos were a milestone, a trophy. _Look at me, Josh, I made it, and I'm alive_.

But Tyler has turned down the path once more. Josh would have been fine with the return of the rubber bands. Hell, if Tyler had come up to him and told him he was having _those_ thoughts again, Josh would have gone out of his way to find rubber bands himself. He welcomes that, but not this—never this.

They've stopped moving. Josh's eyes are on Tyler's arm, and Tyler is swaying to regain his balance. "Silent Night" is a chilling presence in the room. Neither wants to break this. They both do.

Tyler tugs the sleeve of his sweatshirt. Josh lowers his head.

"I'll go out and, uh, get some pink dye for you."

"No," Josh says. "You've been drinking."

"Buzzed," Tyler clarifies.

"No," Josh repeats. "No, you're not."

Tyler's nose wrinkles. "Oh, right. I'll sleep it off."

"Good."

"Pick up some dye later." Tyler rubs the material of his sweatshirt over his arm, scratching the scabs—the healing scabs. "Maybe some food, too?"

Josh tilts his head. "Only if I can lie in bed with you."

Tyler smiles. "Only if you stick your hand up my shirt."

The music turns off, and they go upstairs. Tyler is out in a minute. Josh rubs his back and stares at the cuts along Tyler's wrist. He cries. Tyler snores.

In a few days, this won't matter. The scabs will flake away. There won't be any scars—and if there are, they will be minuscule and insignificant.

In a few days, nothing will matter. So, today, Josh holds Tyler just a little tighter.

*

It's much later when Tyler wakes with a hangover and Josh's hand still up his shirt. Tyler is warm, as he often is. He stretches, arms above his head. The noises that leave his lips can only be described as animalistic—specifically feline. Tyler is no stranger to mewling, but those sounds are frequently in the context of Josh stroking it from him. Hearing it now stirs something within Josh, and he's ashamed of himself. Tyler is hung over, his eyes not wanting to open, his mouth not wanting to work. Josh pushes his fingers through Tyler's hair, still too short to get a proper amount in his fist. "Talk to me," Josh whispers.

Tyler shakes his head. "Need a Red Bull, then we'll get this show on the road."

Josh doesn't want to go out when Tyler is fighting whatever is going on inside his head, but it changes when Tyler drinks a Red Bull. The transformation is almost surreal. He's smiling, bouncing in his seat as he drives them to Walmart. Not many people are on the road, probably due to the hour, and even less so at the department store.

They make it to the hair dye aisle. Josh suggests Tyler should dye his hair purple. Tyler considers it. He picks up the box and turns it over in his hands, but ultimately, they leave with only the pink dye.

Taco Bell is open.

"I don't want to go home yet," Tyler says.

"Don't go home," Josh says. "You're driving."

Tyler takes them to a park. They sit in the bed of the truck, on top of that blanket that's seen better days. There's a twelve-pack of Cinnabon Delights between them. It's cold, them having to nestle close as they eat. Josh feeds Tyler, and Tyler feeds Josh. Icing sticks to their lips and fingertips, but they're smiling. They're laughing.

Josh sucks on his fingers when they finish. Tyler hops from the truck to find a trash can. "You ready to go home now?" Josh asks when Tyler returns.

Tyler shakes his head. He kisses Josh, and who is Josh to not kiss him back? Josh is the first to settle down, Tyler lying next to him. Tyler tastes like cinnamon, and he's forgotten some icing on the corner of his mouth. Josh laps it up. Tyler moans. "Bite me."

Josh does, gently, his teeth grinding into Tyler's bottom lip. He lets go, and Tyler bites his lip with the same amount of pressure, immediately giggling. "Cold," he mumbles. "Wanna do so much with you."

"Let's go home, then." Josh touches Tyler's cheek. "We'll do so much there."

But they don't go home. They spend more time in the truck bed, their arms wrapped around each other, lips in hair, eyes closed, breathing. Their shivers disappear, and soon sleep overcomes them.

Early morning joggers rouse them. A girl with her girlfriend asks if they're okay. "Do you need me to call someone?"

"No," Josh says. "Just lost track of time."

Tyler is mewling again. Josh wonders if he ever fully got over his hangover, or if he pretended everything was okay. Josh is guilty of the very same.

*

At home, Josh listens to Christmas music as his hair dye sets. Tyler is playing a video game, the one with the explosions. His character is level forty, and Tyler says he is invincible.

"I guess that invincibility doesn't extend to blowing yourself up?" Josh watches the game load Tyler's last save.

Tyler puffs out his cheeks. "Apparently not!"

Josh tries not to look at Tyler's arms whenever he's wearing short sleeves. It's hard. He's just… checking. Tyler hasn't cut himself anymore, and Josh was right when he assumed they wouldn't scar.

"Stop looking at me," Tyler mumbles, his eyes on the TV, finger aggressively tapping the trigger button.

Josh frowns. "Sorry."

"Dude, I was kidding." Tyler smiles.

"Oh."

"But seriously, stop looking at me. You're distracting."

"Sit in my lap."

"That's _even more_ distracting!" Tyler laughs. His character holds on, escaping from the brink of death. "Dang, did you see that, Josh? I ran away. My heart's, like, racing."

*

Tyler has pink dye on his face in the morning. Josh doesn't notice it, since Tyler is flustered upon waking, caught up in dreams that cause him to whisper Josh's name.

Josh gets Tyler off with a palm between his legs. Tyler ruts against it, uncoordinated, messy, his hands groping for purchase on a pillow. Even with a shirt on, Josh can see the muscles in Tyler's back tense and his shoulders roll. It's a lovely sight indeed.

Tyler comes to around the same time his orgasm hits. He's embarrassed—naturally. Out of it, too, because he thought he dreamed it all. Josh's hand is still between his legs, and his cheeks are pink from both arousal and dye, and Tyler laughs and calls himself an idiot, and Josh laughs and hugs Tyler and kisses his cheek, and Tyler smiles and smiles and smiles.

*

Tyler has a cut on his thigh. It's new. Josh sees it when Tyler is changing into pajamas. Tyler doesn't see Josh.

On his break, Josh purchases two boxes of rubber bands. He places one in the spare room, on the desk, and the other goes in their bedroom, on Tyler's end table. Which box Tyler chooses to open doesn't matter. What matters is if he uses them. Would this embarrass Tyler? That Josh noticed cuts? Or would it be embarrassing that Josh is doing this as a precaution? Tyler might get upset. How dare Josh think he's been doing _that_ again?

Tyler saw Josh looking at the cuts on his wrist, though, so he can't really be upset. Can he?

He gets more reserved, but Tyler's been like that for months now.

He spots the first box in their room as they're fixing the bed to sleep. Josh doesn't watch—not directly. Tyler stares at the box. He doesn't blink, doesn't do anything. He gets into bed and turns his back to Josh. Josh lowers the volume on their TV and punches in the sleep timer.

In the morning, he's getting snapped awake with a rubber band. Tyler is laughing.

This continues all week. When Josh least expects it, Tyler pops up and flicks a rubber band into whatever patch of skin is visible. It tends to be his arms, but sometimes Tyler will go for his neck or cheek. Those are the worst.

The rubber band breaks as it breaks Josh's cheek. If it could bleed, it would bleed along with Josh. Josh sits on the sofa and cries. He holds his hand to his face, his fingers cold against his hot cheek. Stinging, it won't stop stinging.

Tyler runs after he snaps Josh. It's no surprise he did it this time. Cackling, he sprinted upstairs, and Josh has not heard from him since then. Tyler likes to hide after these incidents, no doubt laughing to himself. He's laughing as he's heading back downstairs, laughing as he goes down the hall, laughing as he turns into the living room, even laughing as he stares at Josh. "What, what are you… what are you doing?" He blinks, then realizes. "Josh, God, what's wrong?" Tyler drops to the cushion on Josh's right. It feels wrong. He cries harder. "Shit, Josh, did it hurt that bad?"

"Tyler," Josh mumbles, trying to articulate an intelligent reply, but all that tumbles out next is "fuck you."

Tyler's eyes widen. "Whoa."

"Do you—dammit—do you honestly n-n-not think a rubber band to the face wouldn't hurt?" Josh pulls his hand from his cheek, blood on his fingers and smeared over his cheek. "Tyler, I'm _bleeding_."

"I didn't mean—"

"What did you expect to happen?" Josh shows Tyler his hand. "Tell me. Because I would really like to know."

Tyler's bottom lip trembles. "I-I—"

Josh doesn't wait. He makes it upstairs, standing in front of the medicine cabinet mirror. Tyler has followed him up here, and is now doing his best to patch Josh's cheek. Although Josh is being difficult, Tyler manages to clean, apply antibacterial cream, and slap a bandage on his cheek. Josh is still crying, but he's at that stage where it's quiet and tears are rolling. Does Tyler feel bad?

Tyler hugs Josh. He feels bad. Josh closes his eyes.

*

Later that day, Tyler does something that Josh assumes is meant to make up for what he's been doing to Josh all week.

"Please," Tyler says, and Josh shakes his head and tells Tyler he can't.

"Why?" Tyler asks, and Josh shakes his head and says it's because he said so.

Tyler rolls his eyes at this, but continues to pester Josh about it. Josh ignores him.

"Josh. Please."

"Tyler, I'm not snapping rubber bands against you."

"Why?" he repeats.

"Because that'd be mean," Josh answers, and Tyler shuts up.

*

It's a week before Thanksgiving now, and Tyler is asking Josh again. Like before, Josh's instinct is to outright deny Tyler's request, but it's different this time. They're in the kitchen, leaning on each side of the island. Josh is making a grocery list, and Tyler is watching him write it. It had been remarkably silent throughout this process, only broken by gentle taps against wood and whispered suggestions. Tyler said they should make their own sugar cookies sometime, and Josh excitedly wrote it down.

So when Tyler speaks up, Josh thinks it's to add something to the list. But it's different this time.

"Josh, I want you to snap a rubber band into my skin."

His tone might have been inquisitive, but Tyler was not asking. It was a statement laid out in front of them as if it might be added to their shopping list. Josh even had his pen readied, the ink at the tip expanding and blotting the page. He raises the pen. "Tyler, I—"

"Please," Tyler says. He isn't crying. He looks like he might go down that road, though. Tyler is being careful, trying his best to go about this sensitive subject without lifting concerns or voices. Concerns have been raised for a while now; they've been raised for months. Josh doesn't remember the last time he looked at Tyler and didn't feel like a mountain range was between them.

Josh is careful, too. "Are you, uh… are you… _you know_ …?"

Tyler nods.

Up to their bedroom they go. The bed covers haven't been made this morning. They woke up late and ran around the house to get ready for work. Josh made the coffee, and Tyler rubbed dry shampoo into their hair. They're a great team.

Tyler slides his feet under the covers, the polish on his toenails black and chipped. He produces his arm, and Josh snatches the box of half-empty rubber bands from the end table. "So… do you just want me to…?"

"Yeah." His voice is shaky.

"Um, tell me if I'm hurting you, okay?" Josh shakes his head. "Sorry, that was stupid."

Tyler closes his eyes in anticipation. He says, "I'll tell you if you hurt me," completely ignoring Josh's self-deprecation seconds prior. It isn't stupid, in retrospect. Maybe this isn't going to hurt Tyler in the way Josh thinks it will. Would this be a release? A way for him to shift back into place? Josh admits he's hurt himself before—pulled his hair, dug his nails into his legs—but never to the extent Tyler has been known to do. Josh is glad Tyler has opened a bit to allow him to help with this aspect of his health.

But as Josh is readying the rubber band against the thin flesh of Tyler's forearm, he begins to realize Tyler hasn't really opened up. He gave Josh a look with big sad eyes and said "please", and now here's Josh, poised to drive a rubber band into Tyler's arm. He assumed Tyler was feeling suicidal. Tyler never clarified. Did he have to clarify? Josh shakes his head again.

He pulls back the rubber band and releases it.

Tyler bites his lip. His skin rushes to pink, but nothing more. Josh breathes in and breathes out.

"Again," Tyler says, and Josh does it again.

"Again," Tyler says, and Josh does it for a third time.

"Don't stop," Tyler says, and Josh sends the rubber band into Tyler's arm over and over, until Tyler tells him to stop.

But Tyler doesn't tell him to stop.

Tyler's arm is bleeding from welts here and there, and there are tears at the corner of his eyes, and he still does not tell Josh to stop. Josh worries if Tyler's even able to form any words right now, if he should take matters into his own hands and stop before Tyler is hurt more than Josh expected. What _did_ he expect? Tyler asked for Josh to hurt him. Did Josh think this would be over in a minute? That they would go on with their lives after they separated? That they would travel back downstairs and continue with their list-making?

No. Fifteen minutes have passed. Josh has broken two rubber bands. Tyler is full-on crying. Tyler is bleeding, and Josh has Tyler's blood on his hands. "Please," Josh says, and there are tears in his eyes, too, "tell me to stop."

"Just one more." A bead of sweat slides down Tyler's temple. Josh is vaguely aware of how erratic both of their breathing is—Josh for his obvious anxiety and Tyler for something that should not be brought up by anyone but Tyler himself. At this point, Tyler might surprise them both and direct Josh's attention to somewhere other than his arm. Josh doesn't know what he's going to do when that happens. He hopes it doesn't happen.

But it happens. It happens.

Josh breaks the rubber band with his last flick, the ends snapping and cutting into his own fingers. It stings. Josh curses. Tyler moans, and Josh pretends he didn't hear. "Josh," Tyler sighs, and Josh pretends he didn't hear. "Josh, please, I need you," Tyler says, and Josh pretends he didn't hear. " _Josh_ ," Tyler whimpers, and Josh hears, and Tyler kisses him, and he kisses Tyler, and Tyler is nipping at his lips and running his hands over Josh's shoulders, down his sides, resting on his waist. "Your mouth…"

Tyler knows. Josh knows. He doesn't judge, can never judge. He ducks his head to kiss Tyler's neck, his hands working on things below. Fingers shove under waistbands, hips rise to only drop a moment later, and toes curl as clothes pass them. Josh ducks once more, this time to kiss Tyler's thighs, to bite Tyler's thighs, to peel mewl after mewl from Tyler until his voice is as vacant and dry as a desert.

His cock is hard and leaking, rolling down the side in beads. Josh licks it up in long stripes, not even stopping the drool from spilling out of his mouth to drip back on the head of Tyler's dick. Tyler fights to keep sitting, his hands making a bird's nest out of Josh's hair. He's shaking, his arm now dried with the few spots of blood. They're poking at the corner of Josh's eye, pulling him in, wanting him to look, please look, please.

"Please," Tyler mumbles, head tilting back, his neck pale and red from Josh's bites. " _Josh_."

Josh takes Tyler in his mouth, all the way in, his nose in Tyler's pubes, Tyler's fingers in his hair. It's hitting the back of this throat, and he feels like gagging, he feels like he's suffocating, but Tyler is pulling him back up, reminding him _hey, oxygen is a good thing to have, friend_ , and Josh breathes, and he's sliding back down, and Tyler's hips are giving these cute little twitches, and he's mewling, he's fucking mewling, and he falls onto his back, and Josh bobs his head, and he's in so much power. He's powerful. It's in his veins. It's in his blood. He never wants it to go. He wants to gather it into his arms and hold it close to his chest, nurture it like a fucking baby.

When Tyler comes, Josh swallows it all, and he does gag then. It's too much. Tyler is sitting up. He wants to help Josh, wants to ease the load, but this is Josh's, and Josh only kisses Tyler once he's able to, his breath coming out in stunted gasps. Gross, revolting, Tyler still kisses him, cupping the side of his neck as he draws him in closer, wet lips sliding along wet broken lips. "I love you," Tyler whispers, a secret. He's crying again. "I love you so much."

Josh takes Tyler into his arms, clinging to him as if he were a porcelain doll. "I love you, too, Ty."

In the bathroom, Josh runs a washcloth over Tyler's arm. "You don't need bandages," he says, "unless you, I dunno, want the aesthetic?"

Tyler taps his chin. He shakes his head. "Nah." He smiles. "Thanks, man."

"Don't mention it."

And they go back into the kitchen when they finish, Tyler dressed and clean and Josh a little better than he was that morning, and continue their grocery list.

*

Josh can't find the boxes of rubber bands anymore. He doesn't know what that means, but he hopes it's for a good reason.

*

For their first Thanksgiving away from their parents, they decided to celebrate it by themselves. Josh's mom saw nothing wrong with it, while Tyler's mom wanted them to visit the following Friday—she didn't think they could possibly feed themselves enough on a day like Thanksgiving.

This year, Josh was under the assumption they would do the same. Tyler proves him wrong. Josh thinks it's because he's woken from a bad dream. However, Tyler repeats it when he's fully awake, spoonful of cereal heading toward his mouth.

"We should spend Thanksgiving with our families."

It's spoken after a nightmare, with a low voice, and Josh pulls Tyler into his side and rubs his back.

It's spoken during breakfast with Frosted Flakes at his lips, and Josh is aware of how awake Tyler is. He can't brush it off.

"We can do that. So, what, your family for a few hours, and then to mine?"

"No. I mean, like, you with your family, and me with mine."

Josh blinks. "Oh."

"Yeah." Tyler munches on his cornflakes.

Josh thought he wouldn't be able to feel worse than he does now, but he does on Thanksgiving. Tyler drops him off at his parents' house around four, and Josh watches him drive away.

He gets asked about Tyler. Not annoying or even the tiniest bit prying, he knows it's customary around the holidays to be asked about partners. Josh is aggressive, though, without knowing exactly why.

"How's Tyler?" his brother asks.

"He's fine. God, what's it to you?"

Thankfully this is done after dinner. It would have made the meal awkward otherwise.

His mom confronts him as he's poking around in the kitchen for dessert. He's sucking whipped cream off his fingertip. "Didn't do anything," he says.

She sees through him. "Sure, sweetie." Then, "Is there something going on between you and Tyler?"

Definitely not one of his proudest moments, Josh breaks in the kitchen, his mom composing him with pats on his shoulder. "It's okay, Josh. It's okay."

Josh doesn't cry, but—hell—he's close to it. He furiously rubs at his eyes, shaking his head. "I don't know if it's me, if I did something, or, or, or what. There's something wrong. He's… he's hurting himself, and I don't know what to do."

"Have you talked to him?"

"What? I, well, yeah, we talk. We talk, Mom."

"Does he want help? You can't force someone into getting help they don't want."

Josh bends into his mom again, her hand returning to his shoulder. "How about a break? Do you two need a break?"

"Never thought of that."

"Talk to him, Josh."

And Josh talks to him.

It's late Thursday, his dad having dropped him off about two hours ago. Reeking of alcohol, Tyler shows up close to eleven. He's stumbling through the apartment, hips going to bruise. "Tyler?" Josh finds Tyler on the living room floor, curled in the fetal position. "Please tell me you didn't drive home."

"Walked."

"I think that's worse, somehow."

"No!" Tyler uncurls his body. His face hides in the carpet. "My sister drove me, my brother followed in my car."

"Were you the only one drinking?" Josh sits beside Tyler.

Tyler crawls. He rests his head in Josh's lap. "Yes," he whispers. "My mom… She… She, uh, um, she said w-we need to break up."

Josh keeps silent on that matter—tries to. "My mom suggested a break."

Tyler makes noises. Josh picks him up from the floor, small thing, and takes him to the bathroom. He props Tyler up by the toilet and gets a washcloth ready. He's running it over Tyler's face after he surfaces with vomit on his chin. "Get it all out," Josh says.

A thumbs up and a nod later, and Tyler is back with his head in the toilet bowl.

"We don't have to," Josh reasons, the washcloth clean and dripping in his hands. "I like being with you, Tyler."

Tyler smiles. It'd be cute if he hadn't just thrown up. "I really like being with you, Josh."

"Trying to one up me?"

"Oh, yeah."

Josh cleans Tyler's face again and helps him into the bedroom. "Need me to put on your pajamas?"

Tyler blushes. Josh feels sick now, watching Tyler in front of him, blushing at something that is suggestive to him and him only.

"No, I can dress myself. Get me somethin' to drink, though?"

Their rendezvous is the bed. Tyler is wearing a pair of basketball shorts and socks that reach his calves. No shirt to speak of, Josh gets excited and concerned. Both of these quickly pass. "Little sips," Josh says, and hands Tyler the can of 7-Up. "What d'you got there?"

Tyler shows Josh. " _Uno_. Wanna play?"

"Well, since you already have it out…"

Tyler rolls his eyes. "Shut up." He shuffles the deck. Josh changes into more comfortable clothing, choosing to keep on his shirt. Tyler is thin. Josh has pointed that out more times than should be allowed. It's… stupid. Tyler's gotten older, shed his baby fat. Does Josh miss Tyler's stomach? Obviously. It was soft, and Josh liked the yelps that Tyler made when teeth dug in. He had been nervous the first time Josh got off his clothes, his legs to his chest, hiding, and Josh pushed those legs apart and kissed him and loved every part of it.

Could Josh still do that now? Obviously. Maybe even with more confidence—Tyler has grown more confident. The Tyler Josh met wouldn't dare be this naked in front of him outside of a sexual context. It began that summer, and more than a year later, look how much he's grown. Josh is proud of him.

"Okay." Tyler chews on his lip, holding up his cards and staring at Josh over the edge. "I'll let you go first."

"Thought I was supposed to anyway. Left of the dealer or something. There's just the two of us."

Tyler narrows his eyes.

Josh smiles.

Tyler smiles.

Tyler wins. He slams down his last card—a yellow seven—and cheers. Josh high-fives him. "Sick!"

"So sick!"

After finishing his drink, Tyler is out like a light. He's using Josh as a pillow, drooling on his t-shirt. Josh strokes the back of Tyler's shoulders. His skin is so soft.

*

Hopefully for all the right reasons, Tyler lets Josh read some of the songs he's planning to perform at the bar. "Validation, you know," Tyler says, the sweatshirt he's wearing full of tiny holes. "Plus, I really care what you think."

It's in a new notebook, only the first few pages written. Josh appreciates this. He smiles at Tyler, all the while thinking about the other notebooks, the ones Tyler said were too embarrassing to share. He doesn't ask. That would be bad.

Josh fiddles with the edge of a paper, folding and unfolding. "This one's really good," he says. Tyler is next to him on the spare room bed, his feet swinging over the edge.

"Which one?"

"Hm… 'Addict with a Pen'. You should do this one tonight. Or tomorrow. I don't know if you have any music to go with it."

Tyler furrows his brow. Concentrated, he stands and pulls out an old notebook, one that Josh recognizes from their move. Tyler sits back down, flipping through the pages. Josh catches words here and there: "blasphemy", "drown", "sleep", "bell". The pages are yellowed, the ink on the page dark, yet faded if written in pencil. Tyler makes sure to write in only pen now. "I have, like, ah, an idea for this song. I wrote it… forever ago. Before I knew you. I've wanted to perform it for some time, but it never felt right."

Josh scoots closer. Tyler doesn't pull away. "What's it about?"

"Trees."

"Trees?"

Tyler nods. "Yeah."

"I love it."

Tyler finds it. He flips the cover and past pages behind, putting the song about trees on full display. "Do you want to read it? See if you want to perform it with me?"

"I don't want to impose."

"You're not." Tyler gives Josh the notebook. "Please."

Josh takes it, setting it on top of the other one, a little stack. He chews on the inside of his cheek as he reads through the lyrics. It takes a third read-through to start focusing on the type of beat he could put to it. On the first read, Josh is overwhelmed, his chest tight. The second time, he analyzes the lyrics. Tyler studies him, eyes along Josh's body, meeting his gaze when the words on the page turn to prayers in the middle of the woods.

"Tyler…"

"I was thinking slow," Tyler says, taking the notebooks. "But now I'm considering I should speed it up a little. Thoughts?"

"Do it on the piano. I'll base it off that."

It's actually a ploy to listen to Tyler sing. It works.

Josh is in tears at the end. "Tyler…"

"My birthday," Tyler says, "I would like to perform this on my birthday. That's a few days from now. We don't have to do anything tonight. We can… start fresh tomorrow."

"Tyler—"

"Tomorrow? Thought so." Tyler stands and moves to leave.

Josh grabs his hand. "Sing me another song."

So, Tyler sits beside Josh on the bed, the pillows propping him up as he strums on the ukulele and sings "Can't Help Falling in Love".

*

Tomorrow comes. They're tired from work, but Tyler sits behind his piano and Josh twirls his drumsticks.

"I thought about it on my break," Josh says, "and maybe it could sound like this?"

They play until it's well past midnight, finalizing the night with a good sense of what the song has become. Tyler is happy. Josh is full of energy. "Hey, why do we have to stop there?" Josh bounces in his seat. "Let's do more. Let's make this happen."

"Let's make this happen," Tyler agrees.

More notebooks are pulled from the desk. Josh reads the lyrics, Tyler taps on his piano, and Josh follows with an improvised drum line.

This goes on. They run on no sleep and Red Bull to get through the day. And when they get home, they fall onto the sofa and sleep until it's noon. After the initial panic of missing work passes—they soon remember they have a day off—they go upstairs and climb into bed, Tyler on the right, Josh on the left, their backs to each other and their snores the only form of communication.

*

Josh comes home late. After work, he rehearses with Brendon and his band. They're set to perform when the New Year comes around. On the nights Josh is out, Tyler is doing performances of his own—or so that's what Josh is led to believe. Jenna is saying something different.

"It's been forever since you've sang for us, Tyler! I had some people just the other night ask me when you were coming back."

Tyler is regretting putting it on speakerphone. "Well, I'm gonna be there with Josh tomorrow."

"Josh!"

Josh smiles.

Tyler picks at a spot on his face. "Yeah, Josh. We're gonna do a few songs together."

"I'll get the stage ready for you guys!" She's excited. Josh is excited. The whole place is excited when they get there.

But they're in the kitchen now, Tyler's phone between them, the call ended. Tyler is pointedly not looking at Josh, so Josh doesn't ask him about what he's doing the nights Josh is gone. Tyler has always been home when Josh shows up. He's always on the couch, blanket wrapped around his shoulders, long socks on his feet, and a video game controller in his hands. Sometimes he's in the bedroom with a different controller in his hands. When they moved to this bigger apartment, Tyler suggested keeping the Nintendo 64 in their bedroom. They don't play _Mario Kart_ as much as they once did, but it's still nice to walk in and see Tyler's thumbs working on an old, creaky controller with his tongue sticking out the corner of his mouth.

Tonight, they sleep, side by side, the covers divided equally. By morning, Tyler has the majority of the blankets, and Josh has managed to untuck the bed sheet to tangle his body within it. Some habits are hard to quit.

They wake like this today, on Tyler's birthday. Josh gets up before Tyler and goes into the kitchen. He's careful and quiet as he makes Tyler breakfast. It's his birthday; they can't eat cereal on Tyler's birthday. Josh knows he isn't a cook, but he does his best to make chocolate chip pancakes. They do the job, stirring Tyler from his slumber from the smell alone.

Josh brings it to Tyler in bed, all the while smiling. Tyler sits up, his hair long enough to be disturbed by sleep. It's slight; regardless, Josh's heart needs to be restarted.

"Hey," he says, and sets the tray of food in Tyler's lap. "Happy Birthday, baby boy."

Tyler genuinely looks refreshed. The shirt he wore to bed is big, falling off a shoulder, and the circles under his eyes are virtually nonexistent. Tyler grins. He grins with his teeth. He's beautiful. "Thanks, Joshie."

Josh kisses Tyler's forehead. As Tyler eats, Josh sits beside him, watching the television and drinking coffee. On occasion, Tyler's fork comes into his peripheral vision. Josh eats. Tyler laughs and eats and feeds Josh some more.

Overall it's a good day. They sit outside, on the back porch, Josh smoking cigarettes and Tyler sipping on a can of beer. One of Tyler's notebooks flutters between them, as does a pen. Words fall, words land, and Josh learns to swallow his emotions.

"This one," he says, tapping the space in the middle of "air" and "catcher". "I like the progression of this one. It tells a story."

"Wrote a son' 'bout you," Tyler says, and flips through the pages. He taps, like Josh. "Cliché."

"It's called 'Lovely', Tyler. It breathes of a cliché." And honestly, Josh tears up a little after reading. He covers this up with coughing and saying he inhaled ash from his cigarette. "It's a good song, Ty."

"Should we do that one tonight?"

"No," Josh says hurriedly. He closes his eyes. "I mean—"

Tyler laughs, snorting. "Ha! As if, you know? It's for you. Haven't even sun' it 'fore. No idea what it should soun' like."

Josh feels like he's breaking. Today's a good day. "Okay, so we're doing the trees one. What else?"

The sun sticks its fingers through the clouds and reflects off the piercing in Josh's nose and the pointed slope of Tyler's nose. "Maybe… Shoot, I'unno." Tyler squeezes his eyes shut. "Maybe we end with 'Trees'. Feels like an endin'."

"Right."

"Fuck," Tyler sighs. He opens his eyes. "Help me."

"The clapping one? Must be tonight? Dude, what about, like, a cover?"

Tyler grabs Josh's arm. "'Jar of Hearts'."

Josh should be laughing, but he's nodding along eagerly. "Tyler, man, yes."

"Tonight's gonna be sick."

"So sick."

*

And it is sick. Maybe they're a bit too energetic for a basement at a bar, but if they are, then their audience is even more. Tyler is jumping and marching around the stage. He dances like no one is watching, his shoulders twitching, his fingers curling.

He's so full of energy. At home, Tyler runs and giggles. It's almost like he wasn't complaining of a hangover moments before he climbed onto the stage with Josh.

The walls and floors are thicker than their last apartment, but with the amount of screeching and carrying on Tyler is doing, Josh expects an angry letter to be slid under their door. "Tyler, it's late. We should go to—"

But Tyler has hold of his pillow, the corner in his fist. He pulls his arm back and swings. It connects with Josh's face, hard, disorientating. Tyler laughs. "Only going to bed if you take me down, Josh."

So, Josh does the only logical thing: he grabs his pillow and smacks Tyler in rebuttal. The pillows are soft, a bit worn, but they're made for this, as all pillows should be. Their first pillow fight was very one-sided; Tyler was crying throughout it, muttering something under his breath. It hurt. This hurts. Tyler is on his back, his chest fighting to return to a normal and steady rise and fall. There are tears in his eyes this time, but they've stopped hitting each other with their pillows. Josh collapses next to him. They don't say anything.

Silently, they get up and change into pajamas. And then, they roll off onto their sides and go to bed.

*

Two in the morning, Josh hears the tiniest sound of snapping. Of course it's Tyler. Josh turns and watches Tyler, slumped against the headboard, repeatedly flicking a rubber band on his wrist. His eyes are focused on the wall in front of him, looking but not really looking. Josh has seen that look before.

"Hey," Josh says.

Tyler stops, frozen in place. "Go to sleep."

"Did you have a good birthday?"

"Yes." Tyler sends the rubber band into his wrist again. The noise is loud and vibrates through the room. "Go to sleep."

"C'mere." Josh lies on his back. "I'll sing you to sleep."

"Can't sing." Nonetheless, Tyler curls into Josh's side, his head on his shoulder.

"Never heard me sing."

"Oh."

Josh sings the first verse of "Trees". It's shaky, quiet—silent. Tyler is crying, face hidden in Josh's chest, soaking his shirt. Tyler's own breath is shaky. Josh rubs Tyler's back and decides to sing more. Tyler clings to him.

"Hello," Josh mumbles. "Hello. _Hello_."

Tyler cries. Josh lets him. It's good to cry.

"I want to say…" Tyler never finishes. He's exhausted himself.

*

Before they go to sleep each night, Josh coddles Tyler. It isn't like he's treating him like a child—no, that'd make this worse. Josh just makes sure Tyler is doing okay.

And if there isn't already one there, Josh slips a rubber band on Tyler's wrist.

Tyler knows to wake him if something were to happen, since he's done it before. But nothing's going to happen.

*

"What are we doing for Christmas?" Josh asks.

"What we did last year."

"So, my parents for Christmas Eve and yours for Christmas Day?"

"Sounds good to me." Tyler scribbles something in his notebook.

Josh nods. "Sounds good to me, too."

*

It snows when Josh goes shopping with Tyler's sister. "Do you even have to get him a proper present?" she teases. "I thought you'd just need to wrap your dick with a bow and give it to him."

"Oh, ha. How did you know?"

She knows something's up. They're huddling in the juniors section of a clothing store, brushing snowflakes off their shoulders. Josh is thankful for his beanie.

"He hasn't been texting me like he used to, and when he does… I don't know. It seems off? I don't know. It's probably nothing." She sticks her hands in coat pockets. "Mom told him you two should break up, caused quite a scene on Thanksgiving… I guess that didn't work out."

"I love him more than anything."

"But maybe a break would be good? He's obviously going through something."

"I can't leave him alone. I can't."

She understands. She's nodding as they walk. "Be there for him, then."

"I am. It's… hard."

"Mom's worried about him. We all are." She sucks her bottom lip into her mouth. "What's he doing?"

"He works. Sometimes sings. We did this thing on his birthday. But… he hasn't… done that for…" Josh sighs. "I don't know. It's stupid. Maybe I need to, like, fuck him really good."

"Sex doesn't solve everything."

"Weren't you just insinuating I give it to him on every major holiday?"

She smiles. "So, what did you have in mind? Clothes, right?"

"Yeah." Josh smiles with her. "Something with flowers."

*

Josh's mom isn't happy to see Tyler on her doorstep with Josh, but she has to let him inside. It'd be rude if she didn't.

Tyler's mom has the same reaction when she sees Josh standing behind Tyler on Christmas. Her joy is forced. "Josh, you're here!"

Tyler and Josh woke with their arms around each other. An odd placement, they were confused and didn't question it. They dressed in oversized tacky sweaters and drove to Tyler's parents while listening to Christmas music. Like last year, they didn't exchange presents that morning. Last year, they cuddled on the sofa and kissed until their heads hurt. They sat on the sofa this year, no touching, just sitting.

Last year, Josh brought Tyler to orgasm twice in a row by three of his fingers. This year, Josh will be lucky if Tyler lets him hold him while they sleep.

"Here you go, honey," Tyler's mom says, and hands Tyler a neatly wrapped present.

Tyler groans immediately upon opening it. " _Mom_."

"Don't you like it? I remember how much you talked about _The Crucible_ in high school."

"Because I hated reading it! The movie was bearable." He tilts his head and runs his fingers along the spine. "I've never even heard of _All My Sons_."

"Well, you have now, dear."

Tyler's sour mood turns somber at his sister's gift. "Josh helped me," she says.

With the flowers on his feet, seeing them reappear in his hands is… calming. Josh likes it when Tyler is surrounded by flowers, and he thinks Tyler likes it, too.

His mom might look like she's suckling on a lemon, but Tyler is grateful. He holds the piece of fabric to his chest, flowing, the kimono soft against his fingers. "Thank you," he whispers. "Thank you so much."

*

Christmas evening, they're in Tyler's bedroom. The door is open. Tyler's mom told them to keep the door open.

It's void of anything that resembles a home. Trophies, awards, and achievements are still on the shelves, untouched, not even dusted—regional at best. Tyler is in his closet, pulling out two presents. Obviously in the shape of CDs, Tyler tries to pass them off as something bigger. "Left these here a few days ago, when you were at work," he says, staring at the wrapping paper, white with red stripes and blue snowflakes. It's ugly. Josh loves it.

"You didn't have to get me anything, Ty." Josh tears off a corner. Tyler sits next to him. "You could have wrapped these together. Saved paper."

Tyler shrugs.

Josh finishes unwrapping the first one. He nearly chokes on nothing. Embarrassing. " _No Phun Intended._ "

"Yeah." Tyler rubs the back of his neck.

"Tyler, this—"

"Shut up. Open the next one."

Josh does. "It doesn't have a title?"

"Yeah, I couldn't think of one." Tyler looks at Josh. He chews on his lips. "My friends helped me out with… recording and all that. They were, like, surprised I was still alive because I hadn't talked to them in so long."

Josh frowns.

Tyler continues, "I know I hurt you by not telling you I was doing stuff with music. Felt like crap ever since."

"Tyler—"

"So, here you go. There's my music. Most of it. I have songs I've written and not performed, not recorded. Like your songs."

"Maybe we'll… do the next ones together," Josh suggests. He sets his hand on Tyler's knee.

Tyler isn't receptive. "Just want to get on track. Feel better. Hate being like this."

Josh's eyes widen. His mouth goes dry. "Like what?" He turns his body and touches Tyler's shoulder. "Tyler, what's wrong?"

But Tyler shakes his head and stands from the bed. Josh should have known. He picks up the CDs, stacking one on top of the other. "Do you want to go home now?"

"Yes," Tyler answers. He answers that. Tyler answers that.

*

Nervous fingers tap along the steering wheel. Rhythmic and not at the same time, the light drumming stops at the end of the car ride. With no care, they pull out keys and push the door open. Before long, they are upstairs, fiddling with baggy clothing.

Josh watches. He sits down on the bed. "You should try on that… uh, kimono."

Those fingers of Tyler's freeze, and then curl. "Hm?" he hums, eyes gliding up to stare at Josh. "T-try it on?"

"Yeah, man!" Josh says, and unlaces his shoes. "I wanna see it on you."

Tyler's fingers are nervous again, almost as if they've been anticipating this very thing since they've arrived home. "Oh… okay."

This is the same with Tyler's vans. Josh had been afraid to give them to Tyler, despite thinking they were _totally Tyler_. Their relationship was still so… new back then, and anything could have caused them to separate—even a pair of fucking shoes. Josh doesn't feel like that now. If anything's going to tear them apart, it won't be clothing. It would be… Josh drops his head into his hands. It would be something Josh really doesn't want to think about right now.

The rustle of clothing is all Josh hears. Truth be told, it's a bit too much rustling for Tyler to just be putting on that kimono. Josh doesn't raise his head. Tyler might be shy. Tyler might say something.

"Josh," Tyler says, in front of Josh, close enough for Josh to feel legs press to his knees. "What do you think?"

And dear God, does Josh love it. He opens his eyes and gazes at Tyler, the thin fabric over his shoulders, flowing down his back. That's all he's wearing. Josh reaches out a hand, but it hovers above Tyler's stomach, waiting. Why is he waiting? His fingertips are shaking. Tyler is climbing onto the bed, climbing onto Josh's lap, wearing nothing but flowers and magic. He kisses Josh. Josh doesn't remember the last time he was kissed like this.

Instinctively, his hands collect at the small of Tyler's back. His fingers lace together as Tyler presses himself closer to Josh. Warm, gentle, Tyler wants to kiss and be kissed. He's limp in more ways than one. Josh runs palms up to Tyler's shoulders and down his arms, up his sides and down to his hips. They slip past barriers and create barriers of their own. Tyler's skin is smooth, firm, soft. Tyler is soft. Josh licks at the dip of Tyler's collarbone, teeth nipping. Eyes shut, Tyler hums again. Appreciative, his forehead connects with Josh's shoulder, lips parting to giggle at Josh's hands grabbing his ass. "Do you want me?" he asks, mouth on the lobe of Josh's ear. Tyler bites. It's hard. Josh's teeth dig into his tongue—embarrassing. "Do you want me?" Tyler asks again, and there's something behind his voice, something Josh doesn't know. Tyler leans forward with his chest and back with his hips. "Josh," he breathes, "do you love me?"

Josh hugs Tyler. "Very much," he responds.

Tyler opens his mouth. "Then—"

Josh kisses him. Tyler forgets. They lie on the bed, Tyler on top of Josh with Josh's fingers in his hair, sharing lazy excuses for kisses. Tyler doesn't put back on his clothes. He falls asleep on Josh, his snores a rhapsody that cancels out the mind-numbing pain from his teeth nearly biting off Josh's earlobe.

*

The weeks after Christmas and before New Year's are a blur. Josh works and goes to band rehearsals. Tyler works and sits in the spare room. He doesn't perform. Josh asks if it's because he wants to perform with Josh again. "I can tell them I can't make it to practice if that's what's keeping you from going back to Jenna's bar."

Tyler shakes his head, thumb in his mouth, gnawing at his nail.

"What is it? Did Jenna tell you something? Does she not want you back?"

"No." Tyler is reading _All My Sons_. He turns a page. "She won't stop texting and calling me about it."

"So, why don't you want to perform? I thought she paid you well."

But Tyler doesn't answer, and Josh doesn't ask anymore.

*

On New Year's Eve, they sit on the back porch and smoke cigarettes. Tyler is drunk and leaning against Josh, mumbling about ghosts. In his pocket, Josh's phone burns. The recording from the graveyard on Halloween night has gone unlistened for months. Why it's still on his phone is a mystery. Done on a night where Tyler was not himself, it might be the closest thing Josh has of Tyler actually opening up about what's going on inside his head. Josh worries what would happen if he were to hear it again. He doesn't think about it.

"Jus' wan' it over with, y'know?" Tyler sniffs. "All that shit."

Josh changes the subject. "Have any New Year's resolutions?"

Snowflakes land in Tyler's hair. Josh gently places the cigarette between Tyler's lips. His cheeks hollow, and the smoke leaves through his nostrils. "Make it to our three-year anniversary."

Last year, Tyler said he didn't have a specific resolution. "I want to stay with you," he said, "and I want to make the most of it. If that's a resolution, then so be it."

It was a bumpy ride, but they made it.

And now? Tyler's tone suggests he doesn't see himself making it to next year.

Josh takes back the cigarette. "Me, too."

*

Tyler isn't sleeping next to Josh. He's in the spare room, atop the neat covers, catty-cornered with the wall and the bed. "Tyler," Josh says, "it's four in the morning."

Josh got up to take a piss. The door was open. Tyler is crying. The ceiling fan light is on, and _All My Sons_ sits at the foot of the bed. Part of the cover is bent, like it had been set down wrong and left forgotten for a day or two.

"Tyler," Josh says. "Tyler, what's wrong?"

His voice is thick with sorrow. Clearing his throat won't help this. "He murdered twenty-one pilots, Josh."

"I… I don't know what to do with this information."

"Leave."

Josh leaves.

*

Tyler seems fine by that evening. He's dancing around the kitchen as he eats raw cookie dough and coats icing on misshapen sugar cookies. "This one's you," he says, pointing at a little person with more icing on the head than anywhere else. "Guess what this is a metaphor for."

Josh holds Tyler while they sleep. It's a strange experience, but neither of them disapproves.

*

Some nights Josh forgets to check if Tyler goes to sleep with a rubber band on his wrist. Constantly, he reminds himself Tyler is not a child, and if something were to come up, then Tyler would tell him.

But like he's said before, nothing's going to happen.

Josh rubs his eyes, and Tyler turns out the light. "Good night," he mumbles, and rolls off on his side.

"'Night, Ty."

"You're doing that show tomorrow, aren't you?" Tyler asks, head rising for a moment.

"Yeah. The first one. Did you wanna come?"

"Yeah." Tyler sets his head on his pillow.

"I'd like you to be there."

Though muffled, Josh falls asleep to Tyler crying into that pillow.

Josh dreams of performing with Tyler. He's conducting a parade, confetti and giant balloons all over the place. There are smiles and bounces, and Tyler's singing at the top of his lungs. Airplanes are soaring overhead. They're flying with them, arms outstretched, but never fully touching. Josh flips, and Tyler leaps, and Tyler lands wrong, and there's blood, there's bone. Tyler is looking at Josh with wide eyes, broken eyes, his hands cradling his broken leg. "Josh," he mouths, the crowd too loud. "Josh," Tyler says. "Josh, I can't stand. I can't get up. Help me." Red confetti sticks to his skin, sweaty, oily like blood. "Joshie, please. Josh—Josh—"

" _Josh!_ "

A cannon—booming, an airplane crashing, Josh launches from the bed and hurries down the stairs, footsteps like a herd. "Tyler?" The kitchen lights are on. There's blood on the floor. There's a knife in the blood. Josh has seen this before. His head hurts. He's going to fall over. He doesn't fall. He's strong. He has to be strong.

Tyler is the owner of that pool of blood, arms wound around his leg tight as the other leg freely bleeds. He's rocking back and forth, tears and snot on his face. "Josh, Josh," he says, his voice almost gone. "I've been yellin' for you, and you, you, you—"

Josh is sick. "Tyler, I—" He cuts himself off. "We need to get you to the hospital."

"Can't stand up. I tried, and I can't. I, I, I don't know—"

"Tyler, _please_." Josh runs upstairs. He pulls on jeans and a sweatshirt, stepping into his shoes and jamming a beanie on his head. He tucks a pair of socks into the kangaroo pocket before returning to Tyler, Tyler who is now lying on the floor, pale Tyler, bleeding Tyler, Tyler who is moaning. Josh slings the throw blanket off the back of the sofa onto his shoulder and shoves his arms beneath Tyler, lifting him, small thing, poor thing, broken thing, bleeding thing, please-don't-die-on-me thing. "Talk to me," Josh says. "Tyler, dammit, keep talking to me."

It's weak, but Tyler talks. He sings. _Take my hand, Josh; take my whole life, too_. Josh grabs the car keys and runs. His feet aren't working in tandem with his brain. He's slipping, fumbling. Rain fell hours ago. Josh knows he's going to fall, but he doesn't fall. He hopes Tyler is warm beneath the blanket.

Old towels are underneath the seats. They were housewarming gifts. Josh fishes them out and wraps Tyler's leg with them. Josh realizes it was the leg Tyler had cut before. This cut is deeper, and it's on his calf and not his thigh. Josh feels like an idiot for thinking all this could have been prevented if he made Tyler wear a rubber band on his ankle.

Josh doesn't know how to drive. He remembers this as he's in the hospital parking lot. Josh's head hurts.

Tyler stops talking. He's unresponsive and ghastly, and his lips have lost their color. Josh roughly picks him up. "Tyler, come on." Josh digs his fingers into Tyler's sides. "Don't do this to me." Yet Tyler is quiet. Josh has always wanted to carry Tyler like this, but he assumed it would be on their wedding night and not on the way into the emergency room.

As he dashes inside, a towel drops from Tyler's leg and lands sloppily by the automatic sliding doors. Josh leaves it.

They take Tyler immediately. As they are carting him away, his eyes open to only close a second later. He says something. It's incoherent. Messy. Sad. Depressing. Lost. Tyler's lost.

With the throw blanket in his arms, Josh sits in the waiting room. Now is the right time to cry. So, he cries.

*

After the first hour, Josh is ashamed to admit he forgot Tyler had parents. He needs to call them, doesn't he? His phone is charging, though, plugged in and resting on his bedside table.

He considers this some sort of sign from God.

*

After ninety minutes, Josh interprets the sign from God as a bad one. Bad for him, or bad for Tyler, Josh doesn't know just yet.

*

Two hours now, and Josh thinks it's going to be bad for him and good for Tyler.

*

Even as a child frightened of his own shadow, Josh hasn't cried this much.

*

Two hours and ten minutes, and Josh begins to lose faith in everything in the world. No God, no hope, modern medicine is a myth, everyone's an alien, the moon landing was fake. He isn't in a good headspace.

Two hours and fifteen minutes, a nurse is popping into the waiting room. She's looking from Josh to another young man. They're both wearing hats, which causes the nurse great distress. "Um, is one of you Josh, with the pink hair?"

Josh struggles to stand. The blanket in his arms feels heavy, weighing him down. This floor will open up, and he will be swallowed whole. "Is, is he okay?" His brain is working at half the speed it should be. If the nurse is looking for a "Josh, with the pink hair", then Tyler must be okay. He must be talking. He must be _alive_.

The nurse nods and draws Josh over with a wave of her palm. "Come see for yourself."

For an instant, Josh almost doesn't want to see Tyler. Glued to the obnoxious tile, Josh is safe in the waiting room, caught in purgatory. But his heart takes control of his head, and he's following the nurse through the double doors.

This is a sight no one should see. Josh wouldn't wish this on his worst enemy.

Skin absent of any lively color, the heart rate monitor in the corner beeping faster than normal, and his leg shaved and stitched and bandaged, Tyler is compact in the large bed. The thick white blanket provided for the patients is dangling off the footboard. Kicked there or shoved there, it isn't wanted. Tyler is in his pajamas, his clothing not hampering the accessibility to his leg. He isn't looking at Josh. Mattress propped at an angle a few degrees shy of ninety, Josh would expect Tyler to be watching the wall, watching past the wall, watching something only he can see. And while he isn't looking at Josh, he isn't looking past the wall either. His eyes are trained down, half-lidded, like he's a child waiting to be chastised. Tyler is aware. He is alert. He might be the most _here_ than he has been in months.

"Hey," Josh whispers, taking the seat next to Tyler's bed. He stuffs the blanket next to him. "How are you doing?"

"Fine," Tyler deadpans. He doesn't move his head.

"I'm fine, too," Josh says, but he's so very far from fine. There's no TV in this room. Maybe there'll be a TV when Tyler is moved to a more-permanent one— _if_ he's moved. Josh has no idea if Tyler will be admitted. "Have you talked to a doctor?"

"Yes."

"Do you know when you can get outta here?"

"No."

Josh frowns. He stands up, using the arm of the chair to aid him. Hardly any sleep, migraine, heartache, Josh is dead set on running himself through the fucking mill. "Feet must be cold," Josh says, noting the chill bumps on Tyler's legs. He brought the socks for this reason. Although they're not the red ones Tyler normally wears, they're soft and woolly, and they cover Tyler's feet more than adequately. It's disappointing to hide Tyler's toes from the world, but Josh doesn't want him getting sick. Ironic.

"There," Josh says. He squeezes Tyler's toes.

Tyler's breathing is fitful. His shoulders shake. He's trying to stay composed. "Josh, I'm so sorry."

Josh holds onto Tyler the best he can, Tyler's hand tight on Josh's arm. "Tyler, it's okay."

Tyler is inconsolable. Josh manages. He kisses the top of Tyler's head, Tyler's hair going up his nose. It doesn't matter.

*

"Are you Josh?"

Josh is in the chair next to Tyler's bed. While uncomfortable, it belongs here. This chair will prevent anyone from getting a good night's sleep, no matter if they dragged it over to the bed to use as a pillow. Impossible, fruitless, Josh is forced to stay awake as Tyler sleeps, the bed now reclined to more of a bed rather than a lounger. How Tyler is able to fall asleep at a time like this is equal parts wonderful and worrying. Curling up next to Tyler and holding him as he sleeps could possibly be Josh's greatest desire in the world. But not here. It can't be done here. Even if he were to climb into that bed and scoop Tyler's body into his arms, a doctor has walked in, and they want to talk to Josh.

"Could you step into the hallway with me, Josh? Let's give him some privacy."

Polite and quiet, no one else is in the hall with them. Time isn't real; it is endless. Josh's hands come together in the kangaroo pocket of his sweatshirt. "Is he gonna be okay?"

"He's lucky. Good job getting him here when you did. If you were just a minute later…"

Silence, bitter and demented, settles.

Josh swallows.

The doctor shakes their head, shrugging their shoulders and smiling a smile far too cheerful for the discussion. "He's going to be staying the rest of the night while we monitor his… recovery. Walking will be difficult. He might need crutches until his leg heals."

Josh can handle that. "Okay."

"The laceration was deep. He needed stitches. Initially, we believed surgery was required, but stitches were all that was needed." Tyler's door is cracked. The doctor quietly closes it, and then continues. "We were trying to get a story out of him, before you came in, but the nurses and I were told conflicting tales."

 _Tales_. Josh bites into the inside of his cheek. "Okay."

"So, now I want to hear what happened from your point of view, Josh. And we'll see who Tyler lied to."

"Why would he lie?"

"Why wouldn't he lie?" Their hands press together, fingertip to fingertip. "Maybe he's protecting someone."

"Who?"

"Himself, perhaps? Were you there when this incident occurred?"

Josh takes in a slow breath. In and out, the Tyler in his head says. "No, I was sleeping. I woke up and heard Tyler screaming for me, and I found him in the kitchen, on the floor, his leg bleeding."

"Did you see what was used to cause his leg to bleed?"

"Yeah, there was a knife. It was… it was in the blood." Josh closes his eyes. "God, that's going to stain, isn't it?" It's been left for hours. Josh will need to call someone.

"So, you didn't see what happened for that laceration to appear on his leg."

Josh snorts. "I mean, it's pretty obvious what happened."

Eyebrows to their hairline, the doctor says, "Obvious how?"

"You're a doctor. Figure it out."

They ignore that. "Obvious because there was a knife within an arm's reach, or obvious because this has happened before?"

Josh looks down at his feet. His shoelace is untied. "What did Tyler tell you?"

"Well, Tyler told me he dropped the knife on accident. However, the nurse who was with him prior to your arrival says Tyler did it intentionally and was upset he was still alive. If I remember correctly, she said his first words were 'dear God, why did you not take me?'"

"Okay."

"Naturally I talked to Tyler, but I'll go into those details later. Now, Josh, did you say it was 'obvious' because of the presence of the knife, or because this has happened before?"

"Twice," he mumbles, "to my knowledge." No word from the doctor means Josh goes on. "The first time, I was sleeping… again… and he woke me up. He cut himself on the arm that time—hand and arm, like"—Josh draws out his hands and drags his finger around the curve of his thumb down to the middle of his forearm—"that. It wasn't even that deep. I cleaned it up, and we went straight to bed after that." He rubs his face. "The second time, we were, like, in the kitchen, and he was making… brownies, I think, and he dropped the knife and cut his palm." Josh does the motion again, but this time it's quick and a straight line from the left side of his hand to the right. "I didn't see it happen. I was getting something out of the fridge, and when I turned around, he was bleeding. That one was worse than his arm, but it didn't need stitches."

"What did he say he was doing when you helped him the first time?"

Josh furrows his brow. "I…" He sighs. "He stumbled over his words a lot. I don't… know… I found the knife and nothing else."

"Do you think that was an accident?"

"I don't know."

The doctor slowly nods. "Hm, well, Tyler eventually told me that was no accident."

"Okay."

"And the second time, while he was cooking… Tyler said that also was no accident."

"Okay." Josh's hands go back into the kangaroo pocket. They're shaking. Stop, please. "So, he just—fuck." Colliding with the wall, the notches of Josh's spine strike it painfully. He groans, hands leaving their security to cover his face, to stick the tips of his fingers underneath his beanie to scrub at his scalp. "Doesn't make sense that he would just… just d-do that right in front of me."

"You do know these three incidents are not the only times he has inflicted harm upon himself?"

"I've seen the—" Josh drops his hands, eyes on the doctor. "Yes, I know."

A nurse is starting down the hall, both hands on the stethoscope around her neck to prevent it from knocking into her chest as she jogs. Josh watches her. She slows when she reaches Josh and the doctor, giving them each a nod and a weak smile before going into Tyler's room. Josh glances from the space the nurse occupied and the door, a moment passing until he registers what could be happening in Tyler's room. With a stubborn hand, the doctor keeps Josh from entering, pressing a finger to their lips. Be quiet. Josh leans his head against the wall.

"What's the problem, Tyler?" she asks, too happy, just like the doctor. Josh hates it here.

"Where's Josh?" Tyler sounds broken and scared—a child in a crowd of people.

"He stepped out," the nurse says. Whether she knows Josh is standing outside the room with the doctor is unknown. Her steps are delicate and patient. "Aren't you cold?"

"I don't want that blanket. Gimme the one over there." Bossy boy. Josh smiles and looks at his untied shoe. "When's Josh coming back?"

"I don't know, Tyler."

"He's probably smoking. Gonna end up getting cancer."

"That might not happen. Not all smokers get cancer, and not all alcoholics end up with liver failure."

"Whatever. Find him."

"If you need something, Tyler, I can give it to you. You pressed your call button for a reason."

"Yeah. I want Josh. Find him."

"I told you—Tyler, you don't have to keep pressing the call button."

"You're not helping me. Maybe another nurse will."

"Tyler, I—"

"Josh. _J-O-S-H_. Find him."

"Take your finger off the call button. Thank you."

"Go find him, or I'll press it again."

"Tyler, I _told_ you—Mr. Joseph, please stop abusing that button."

The doctor squeezing his arm scares Josh. They say "we'll speak later" with their eyes when no words leave their mouth. Josh is walking into the room after a glance down the hallway—three more curious nurses have appeared, whispering animatedly to each other. Tyler is engaging in a tug of war with the nurse already in his room, over the call button remote. They're struggling in their own way, but they both lose upon seeing Josh.

"Josh!" Tyler says, arms in the air.

"Josh," the nurse sighs. "He's been asking for you." She straightens up, fixing her stethoscope. "If you need anything else, Tyler, don't hesitate to let us know." She hurries out, shooing away the other nurses crowding at the door. "Someone was a little trigger happy," she explains, and they all laugh.

Tyler is wrapped in the throw blanket Josh brought with them. "Hi," he says, looking very much like he did before his nap. He's maintaining eye contact with Josh, and that's an accomplishment within itself. "Where were you? Nurse just said you stepped out, but I don't think she really knew where you were."

Josh sits on the bed. He never understood why they had to be so hard and so high off the ground. "I was, uh, talking to the doctor."

"How does it look, doc?" Tyler mumbles, jamming his index finger into the remote for the bed. He's sitting up now, like Josh. "Will I lose my leg?"

"Tyler, this isn't funny."

Tyler doesn't look at him. He focuses on the bed controller, trying to get comfortable, but seeming like he's doing it just to be doing it. Josh narrows his eyes. "The doctor said you might need to walk with crutches until your leg completely heals."

"I can't choose a wheelchair?"

"I won't let you have a wheelchair."

Tyler lightly taps the button, not pressing down, only having his finger there. "Oh."

Josh knows he shouldn't get angry at Tyler. That's the last thing Tyler needs. Again, Josh is back in middle school, suicide pamphlets flying onto their desks. _Don't get angry! Just try to understand!_ Josh wants to cry. He cries. Tyler is staring at him, watching him, studying him. "Josh—"

Josh shakes his head, his hands up as he stands from the bed. "They're keeping you here overnight. Probably longer. I don't know. I need to call your parents."

"Don't you fucking dare, Josh Dun."

They look at each other, Josh's wide eyes and Tyler's narrowed ones.

Josh blinks. "Okay. Not your parents. You're going to do that, aren't you? Going to tell them everything. I need to… to call my brother."

"Why?"

"Because there's a fucking puddle of blood in our kitchen, and I don't think I'm able to drive back there to clean it up."

"You drove me here?"

Josh wants to cry. He wants to cry and cry. "You don't remember?"

Tyler nervously shakes his head. His teeth peel away his lips.

Josh squeezes Tyler's feet again, wherever they are under the blanket. "I'll be back. Try to sleep. Please, Tyler."

"No promises."

"Don't give me that."

"No promises."

At least they can still smile.

*

After explaining his situation to a young man in the designated smoking area, Josh gets a hold of his brother. "Dude," he starts, "like, I know it's late, but—"

"Josh, is that you?"

"Yeah, I left my phone at the house. Anyway, like, I know it's late, but I'm at the hospital with Tyler, and I'm gonna need you to drop by my apartment and grab my phone, Tyler's phone, our phone chargers, and, uh, clean up a little blood. Oh, and don't tell Mom and Dad."

"Say no more."

His brother comes sooner than predicted. He's pulling up to the front doors of the emergency room, waving at Josh to hop in. "Can't block the entrance," he says, and Josh gets into the passenger seat. They drive around the different parking lots.

"Blood stained a little, but it's not noticeable. I wouldn't tell the landlord."

"Wasn't gonna."

"So, what happened? I'm assuming Tyler got hurt since you're here with me."

Josh is going to scream. He's going to scream for hours. "Tyler tried to fucking kill himself."

There's no disclosure of details, not even the want to know details. There are only the passing of phones and their chargers, a quick hug, and a "Call me if ya need to, man."

Tyler is still awake. He's sitting in bed, staring at his injured leg. "We should see how long it takes for my leg hair to grow back."

Josh grabs the corner of the blanket and covers Tyler's leg again. "I'm not mad at you." Tyler presses his lips together. Josh sits beside him, a tight squeeze, but they make it work. "Here's your phone. Do you want it?"

"In the morning," Tyler says quietly.

It goes in the uncomfortable chair. Josh's phone stays in his hand, his thumb working fast as he sends a message to Brendon. _Hey, something came up. I'm really sorry. I don't think I can do the show tonight. I'll keep you updated._

Tyler stares at him. He looks away.

The bed lowers. They sleep.

*

Tyler leaves in a wheelchair, but Josh says it's required. Tyler is laughing loudly and speeding away.

Josh's brother is here to take them home. Tyler can't drive. Josh doesn't want to drive.

Tyler gets on the phone with his sister. "Hey, okay, don't tell Mom, but I'm gonna need you to drive my car back to my apartment. It's at the hospital. I'll tell you later, or Mom will tell you when I tell her. Or whatever."

At their apartment, Tyler practices using his crutches. Mostly he swings and giggles. Seeing Tyler this happy is unnerving.

Of course it doesn't last. If Tyler is happy after speaking with his parents, then something would be wrong.

Earbuds in, eyes on his laptop, Josh eavesdrops. For once, Tyler is in the bedroom while Josh is in the spare.

"Mom, I need to tell you something, and you have to promise not to get mad. Just promise me. Please… A few days ago, Josh had to take me to the hospital, and— _Mom_ , lemme finish; I didn't even finish, and you're already mad! No, shut—Mom. Okay… Okay, Josh had to take me to the hospital because I… I…"

On the verge of tears, Tyler breaks and speeds up and doesn't stop.

"Josh had to take me to the hospital because I tried to kill myself, and I chickened out, and I yelled for him, and he found me, and he took me to the hospital. And, Mom—Mom, lemme finish—Mom, I'm fine now. I'm home."

Disbelief. "I'm home."

A door opens, and Tyler blows his nose. "Yeah. Okay. Are you even going to ask if Josh is all right?"

Josh scratches his cheek.

"That's—no, shut up. Mom, that's—yes, I did. _Shut up_. I do care about Josh. I can't—why would you— _Mom_."

He can hear it. _Why should I ask if Josh is all right when you don't care about him?_ Harsh.

"No!" Tyler shouts. Josh hears a stomp and chuckles at the idea of Tyler putting his foot down. "No! I don't want to! Okay, whatever, I might be acting like a child, but you're my mom, and you should trust me… Yes, I realize now isn't the time, but—Mom. Mom, please, I don't want to leave Josh."

Thudding, the headboard rattles into the wall as Josh tilts his head back. He closes his eyes.

"Right. Sure. So, you want me to go up to Josh and tell him my mommy wants me home and expect he doesn't take that as us splitting up?"

Josh snorts.

"I'm not doing this. I'll call you tomorrow… Because I'm tired, and I'm still in recovery. Jesus. Love ya. Bye, Mom."

Music drifts into Josh's ears. Tyler's voice is young and high. The lyrics are deep and thought-provoking, while the sound production is sometimes brilliant and sometimes could be perfected. The second CD is better, in that sense. Josh likes that one more.

This is how Tyler finds him. Tyler hobbles into the room on his crutches, white as a ghost. Josh plucks out an earbud. "Hey." He smiles. "What's up?"

"What… what're you listening to?"

"You."

Tyler blushes. Color. Josh has missed that. "I don't want to, like, ruin the mood for you, then."

"Nah, it's cool." Josh pauses the music.

"My mom wants me to… move back in with her and Dad, and I already told her no. Because it's stupid. But I think I could, like… compromise, and just… visit…?" Tyler shrugs. "Don't want her to worry about me."

Josh nods. "Oh, yeah. I'll be a call away."

Tyler fixes his grip on the crutches, shifting his weight. "Are you going to bed?"

"I want to listen to this CD. Be in there after that."

A little difficult, but Tyler manages to shuffle forward and kiss Josh's temple. He smells like the hospital, hasn't showered since coming home. Josh will ask to bathe him tomorrow.

*

_Okay like Tyler got hurt. Fucked up his leg. Can't really walk._

_Shit_

_Dunno when I can perform with you guys but I'll let you know when I'm available._

_Haha gotta find a fill-in drummer for our fill-in drummer_

_Oh my god_

*

Despite telling his mother he's going to visit, Tyler stays in bed all day. Josh would go as far as to say Tyler hasn't moved even a fraction of an inch since he left for work.

"Hope you didn't piss the bed."

"Almost, but I made it." Tyler has a bag of mini Reese's Cups next to him, so he must have gotten up sometime. Wrappers are forming an ample pile on the end table, two or three falling onto the floor. "Dude, now I know why I never watch the news. World's messed up."

"Yeah." Josh drops onto the bed, taking off his shoes.

"Also forgot how hilarious _SpongeBob_ was."

"Yeah."

"I missed you."

"What?"

"I missed you, man."

Josh lies down, his head on Tyler's thigh, checking beforehand that this thigh isn't the one connected to the healing leg. "Could'a called me."

Tyler runs his fingers through Josh's hair. "And risk this _SpongeBob_ marathon? No way."

He can't stay down for long. Sleep will claim him. "Hey, Tyler, you need to shower."

"Thanks."

"Lemme wash you."

"Okay."

If there's ever a time where it's inopportune for a mother to call, it would be when you're taking a bath with your boyfriend. Thankfully this bath isn't rated R; it's barely PG-13.

They had been playing music off Tyler's phone, the vibration from the call forcing the phone to bounce and fall to the floor. Josh is closer, so he grabs it and passes it to Tyler. "Yellow?" Tyler says into it. Josh presses his forehead to the back of Tyler's head, his hand curving around to touch Tyler's stomach. With his leg propped onto the tub's edge and his posture being its usual slumped, Tyler's stomach is still flat, just the tiniest roll to it. Josh rubs Tyler's stomach in circles, not wanting to bring forth any negative attention. Only positive. Only happy.

"Sorry, Mom, I woke up late. Just a few minutes ago, actually. Oh, yeah. I'm taking a bath now."

Josh bumps his nose into Tyler's shoulder.

"Josh? He's with me." Tyler takes in a slow breath to stop himself from laughing. "What? No, he's with me, Mom. In the tub. Taking a bath." He has to pull his phone from his ear to actually laugh. Josh laughs, too, both arms around Tyler's stomach, hugging. He hugs Tyler.

"Yeah? I'm feeling fine! More than fine."

Josh kisses Tyler's neck.

"Tomorrow, okay. Love ya. Bye, Mom." Tyler puts back on the music. "I want to stay in here with you."

"We can."

"Good."

They do.

*

For the next week, Tyler's dad picks him up, and Tyler stays with his parents for the day, until his dad drives him home later that evening. And for the next week, Tyler's good mood changes to… not good. Josh wouldn't say it was bad. Just… not good.

Tyler doesn't laugh. He doesn't look at Josh, and if he does, his expressions are those of disgust. In bed, they don't touch. Josh believes if Tyler's leg wasn't injured, Tyler would be sleeping in the spare bedroom.

The only change in their schedule is Tyler seeing his parents. So, it isn't a stretch for Josh to assume something is going on over there.

However, when he calls Tyler on his break, Tyler is easily aggravated and doesn't let Josh get in a word. "Don't you trust me, huh? I'm fine. Stop calling me. I'm fine. Love ya. Bye, Josh."

And that hurts. That hurts a lot.

*

Jenna calls. "Josh, right?"

"Yeah…?"

"Oh, good! I texted Tyler, but he just sent me your number. I don't know why?"

"Me either."

"Oh."

"What were you two texting about?"

"I wanted to know if he was okay. We miss him."

"He… He's getting better. He got… Okay, look, Jenna, I'm gonna be real with you for a second. Tyler cut himself, and it was bad, and he's getting better. He _was_ getting better. I think his mom is, like, sabotaging our relationship."

Jenna is quiet. The breath she takes is shaky. "Damn."

"Yeah."

"I knew Tyler was… He's always been… Josh, I'm so sorry."

"It's okay."

"I'm so, so sorry."

*

Tyler walks. He goes back to work. He stays with Josh during the evenings.

"Did you like spending time with your parents?"

Head on his pillow, arms snug on his Squirtle plushie from an amusement park, Tyler says, "No. My mom… She… She said I'm like this because of you."

Mouth gaping open like a fish, Josh stumbles with his words. "T-Tyler—"

"I told her to go to hell."

That night, Josh hears the snap of a rubber band into skin. Over and over, they fill his dreams with arsenic. His fingers close around the hem of Tyler's shirt. And then, Tyler stops, and his hand covers Josh's own.

*

"March, maybe," Josh says, his phone to his ear. "Will you still be doing shows in March?"

Tyler is finishing an apple. He tosses the core into the bin.

"Yeah, we have a few in March. Do you think you can do it then?"

"Totally." Josh raises his head, eyes catching Tyler poking around in the pantry. "Will we be leaving the state?"

"Couple nights. Probably gonna get some cheap hotel."

"Could I bring someone? I'd pay for, uh… my hotel room."

Empty-handed, Tyler goes upstairs.

"You talking about Tyler?"

"Yeah. Do you think it'd be okay?"

"I don't care if you bring him. He sings, doesn't he? He could sing before our set."

"Sweet."

As Josh is marking his calendar for the weeks, maybe even for the months, to come, Tyler is in the spare bedroom, writing "Summer" on a loose sheet of notebook paper.


	5. Exhibit E

His hand is next to Josh's head. Each finger spreads, the weight shifts from the tips to palm. Back and forth it rocks. Paces differ—no consistency. The hand by Josh's head grabs at bed covers, spread fingers now curled. Then, finally, his wrist pops, and Josh listens to him groan.

"That's—shit. Felt so good," he says, dropping onto his elbow, wrist giving out and weak—counterproductive. "Okay, now I can—"

"It's been fifteen minutes, Tyler," Josh grunts. "Not counting foreplay."

"Have you really been inside me for fifteen minutes?"

Josh twists his head. Tyler kisses Josh's neck. He bites. "More, like, thirteen minutes. Or whatever. Your own damn fault."

"Wrist had to pop." Tyler pushes himself up, Josh's legs serving as a wall. "Okay, uh, now we can… I think I need more lube."

"Here. Want me to—"

"Yeah."

Josh finds the lube. "Lean—yeah." When Tyler leans, he does it all the way. He's lying on his side, looking a little uncomfortable, but it's over in a minute, in less than a minute. Josh works diligently, coating his cock with more lube, wiping the excess between Tyler's legs. "Okay?"

Tyler nods. "Yeah." He sits back on Josh's hips, taking him by the base and easing him inside. A whimper leaves Tyler's lips, soft and desperate. "Yeah," he repeats, and moves his hips. There's consistency now. Tyler is bouncing, rocking, hands on Josh's chest. Josh's are on Tyler's ass, nails on the curve, holding, squeezing.

" _Shit_."

"Yeah," Tyler mumbles, now chest to chest with Josh. "Can't—Josh—"

"Tyler." Josh loops his arms around Tyler's torso. "Lemme… Just. Roll."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah."

He manages to stay inside Tyler when they switch positions. Tyler's moans change from low to high during this exchange. "Yes, yes, _yes_." Lips connect, slide, suck. "Right there." Fingers tangle in hair and pull. "Josh." Tyler's voice is soft. "Josh."

This lasts about ten minutes. They don't care; at least they're doing it—a feat within itself.

Josh kisses Tyler's forehead. Tyler lazily gives his cheek one back. "Hurts," he says.

"What?"

"It hurts."

"Where?" Josh looks down. "Tyler, you're bleeding."

Tyler looks down, too. "Can't see."

Josh rolls him over, sighing afterward. "Not, like… I scratched you."

"Oh. Ha."

"Did that hurt? Was that what you were talking about?"

Tyler nods. "Yeah. It was kinda on my thigh. Stinging." A pause, his tongue swipes over his lips. "Kiss it. Make it feel better."

Josh does. He goes up higher, tongue out, cleaning Tyler, slow, like he likes it. Tyler claps a hand over his mouth, his back arching. "Josh." Eyes flutter shut. "Oh, Josh."

*

Josh carries a bowl of soup upstairs, presenting it to Tyler with a proud smile. "Took me forever."

The letters in the soup spell Tyler's name. Some are disjointed, and some are just of "Ty". Tyler grins regardless. "Thanks."

"Want you to feel better." Josh sits next to Tyler.

"I'm just sore. Not dying." Tyler swallows a spoonful. "I'll be fine tomorrow… You're doing that show tomorrow, aren't you?"

"Yeah. The first one." Josh blinks. "Tyler…"

"Hm?"

Josh shakes his head. "It's nothing."

*

As they're lying in bed, Tyler flops onto his stomach and asks, "What about the day after tomorrow?"

"Another show," Josh says into his pillow.

"The day after that?"

"Another show."

Tyler turns and looks at the ceiling, arms behind his head. "And after that?"

"Guess."

"Another show."

"Yes."

Tyler chews on his lip. "Right."

*

"I'm going," Tyler says that morning, "to every show. I texted my boss. They're giving me, uh, time off." He's rocking on his heels. "Not just because I want to watch you play. It's for… for my… I told them what happened, and they want me to get better."

Josh stabs a fork into his scrambled eggs. "You're not just going to watch me play," he says, and holds out his fork, in front of Tyler's mouth. "I hoped… well, would you be up to performing, too? As an opening act?"

No hesitation. Tyler talks with his mouth full of egg. "Gonna need a drummer."

Josh smiles. "I'll find you one."

*

The weeks leading up to March are uneventful from an outsider's perspective. They're everything to Josh, especially when it comes to Tyler spending more time with him.

Since they're living together, it would be expected of them to keep in contact and talk. When it came to their old apartment, they were never far. Josh would be on the couch and Tyler at the kitchen table. No matter if their kitchen and living room were the same thing, Josh and Tyler were close, and they would always come running at the other's beck and call.

The move to their bigger apartment put a damper on their relationship. They needed something bigger, so the move was necessary. It didn't help this was around the time Tyler began to grow distant. At first, Josh assumed it was the move, and it would pass with time. But then the spare room upstairs turned into the spare bedroom upstairs, where Tyler would sit for hours on end, sometimes would spend nights without leaving until late the next day. It's getting better; _Tyler's_ getting better.

It may be uneventful, and it may be the lowest rung on the ladder, but Josh appreciates it all the same.

After coming home from work, in the hours before it's expected they sleep, Tyler asks Josh if he wants to watch a movie.

Maybe it's nothing. Maybe it's stupid, and shouldn't be applauded.

But maybe it's also the best thing in the world.

Tyler stands there, in the doorway of their bedroom, catching Josh as he finishes showering. Water is still very much on his body, and Tyler looks like he very much wants to grab a towel and dry Josh off, but instead he's asking, "Do you want to watch a movie?"

Josh smiles. He doesn't even have to say a word. Tyler is smiling at Josh smiling. "I'll get my laptop then. We'll stay in bed."

For weeks they do just that. And for weeks, Josh shuts Tyler's laptop and gently sets it on the floor because Tyler is sleeping beside him, light snores leaving his parted lips. A horror movie could be playing, full of gore and blood-curdling screams, or it could be a comedy that makes Josh laugh until his laughs are silent. Without fail, Tyler is asleep by the end of it. Almost always in the same position—on his side, shirt halfway up his back, facing Josh, an arm under his pillow and the other over Josh's stomach—Tyler never wakes when Josh moves to put aside the laptop and settles down to fall asleep, as well. Tyler's wrist is the last thing Josh sees before he closes his eyes: dark skin with three black lines, and a lone red rubber band.

*

When they're not curled up in bed watching movies on Tyler's laptop, they're curled up on the couch playing video games. Tyler gives the controller to Josh one night and tells him to play. "I hog it _all the time_ ," Tyler says, forgetting Josh had bought the game for Tyler on an off chance he'd play it.

"I… I don't know, Tyler," Josh says, but he takes the controller and sits beside Tyler as he messes around on the character creation. "This game seems hard."

"Dude, it really isn't. You just gotta get to that level, you know, and you're practically a god."

"Except when it comes to exploding cars."

"Well, I mean, if you're not quick enough, you might lose a limb or something." Tyler shrugs and leans against Josh. "I hardly die from explosions now."

"Could've fooled me."

"What?"

Josh smiles. "Tyler, you should make my character. Yours looks just like you. I'm not very good at this." He passes the controller to Tyler, who sighs and ultimately decides this is for the best, if he's ever going to make Josh play.

"First of all, Josh, you made your nose too small."

Josh pulls his legs onto the cushions with him. "Yeah?"

Tyler hums, eyes narrowing. "You should really do this yourself. I, uh, it's really fun." He returns to leaning against Josh. Josh does the same, his cheek to the top of Tyler's head, watching Tyler's fingers dance across the controller. Looking away leaves Josh more confused than he had been at the start. Realistic graphics, smooth gameplay—apart from the many glitches Tyler showed him—it all makes Josh's head hurt. He has to look away, and when he looks back, Tyler is staring straight at him, eyes narrowed in that way they are when he's concentrating. His tongue is even present, licking at the corner of his mouth. "Turn your head," he mumbles, so Josh does, and Tyler mumbles again, mumbling, "Thank you," and goes back to perfecting the character's chin.

The end product is… on its way to the uncanny valley. Mostly. After staring at his video-game doppelgänger for a minute or two, always under the watchful eye of Tyler, Josh comes to the conclusion it isn't really that disturbing at all. It might be the way the character's blinks are uncoordinated and the bad animation of the mouth area, but it's actually pretty fucking hilarious.

"Aw, I can't have pink hair?" Josh pouts.

"No." Tyler shakes his head. "You can get your hair cut later on, and they have a mohawk style… I think. It's been a while since I went to a barber." He lightly taps his thumb against a joystick. "Improvised."

"It looks like my natural color."

"Yeah," Tyler whispers. "Do you want me to make your wife, too?"

"Does it have to be a wife?"

"Sadly. You have a son, and apparently the game developers thought it'd be easier to have a husband and a wife." Tyler frowns. "I mean, like… you're not heterosexual or even monogamous in this game. You can do anything."

"Even survive a car explosion!" At Tyler's glare, Josh wraps his arm around Tyler's waist and hugs him. "I don't remember you having a wife?"

Tyler is quiet. "That's a spoiler."

"What'd she look like?"

"Jenna."

Josh blinks. "Make my wife look like you."

"Can't."

"Why not?"

"That's a spoiler."

Josh blinks again. "Fine. Give me a… moderately attractive wife."

Tyler does, and passes the controller to Josh when he's finished. "If I make popcorn, will you eat some with me?"

"Totally."

The game is… Josh likes it. It's clean—beautiful, actually. Tyler munches on popcorn and points at the screen, telling Josh to move on, to stop dilly dallying. Josh rolls his eyes and tells Tyler to leave him be. "I'm gonna play this game _my_ way, Ty."

Tyler throws popcorn at his head. They laugh.

The game continues. Josh opens his mouth for popcorn, and Tyler feeds him.

The game continues. Josh watches his wife die, and he knows why Tyler didn't want to make her look like him. Josh's heart is in his stomach. "Oh."

Tyler's mouth is conveniently full. He also acts as if he didn't hear Josh.

Josh tries again, but at a different angle. "So, Jenna's dead?"

A kernel sucks down Tyler's throat as he snorts with laughter. Josh rubs his back. Tyler's face is pink once he recovers. "Guess so."

"That's bad, Ty."

"Her name's not even Jenna in here! And I gave her black hair and a badass scar on her face. Two totally different people."

*

Josh holds Tyler that night and doesn't let him go, even when Tyler says he can't breathe.

"Please, Josh—"

"Sorry."

"Just… ease up a little."

"Okay."

"Okay. That's better." Tyler sighs. "Much better."

"I love you, Tyler."

"I love you, too, Josh."

*

When Tyler stopped seeing his parents every day, he bloomed. "I told her to go to hell," Tyler said, and he hasn't been to his parents' house in weeks. Tyler avoided Josh. He would stare at him with dead eyes and avoid his touch. But he warms up to Josh. His leg is healed, and the scar there is sick—in a bad way. Dark, thick, not even Tyler's body hair could hide it completely. Josh would accidentally brush his foot across it during the night, and it gave him chills. He got over it.

He gets over it. If he touches it, he doesn't recoil in disgust, and Tyler doesn't either. Tyler never seemed bothered by it at the start; he actually went out of his way for it to actively be in Josh's vicinity. "Rub my feet," he'd say, and stick his feet in Josh's lap without hesitation. "Higher," he would say, and then, "No, higher—massage my calves."

Josh doesn't care now. Obviously he _does_ care, but not really. It's just another part of Tyler, another reminder of what he's been through—and Josh. Right? It'll remind Tyler of Josh.

If his foot touches the scar while they sleep, Josh keeps it there. Tyler is snoring and doesn't notice the tears in Josh's eyes.

On those mornings, Tyler wakes to Josh's arms wrapped around his thighs, Josh's head on his stomach. Since it's early, his stomach is empty, and Josh listens to the sounds rumbling inside. Tyler runs his fingers through Josh's hair and shuts his eyes.

On those afternoons, Tyler doesn't talk. He stands next to Josh in the kitchen, sits next to Josh on the couch, slides his way into the shower with Josh. In the kitchen, Josh rubs Tyler's arm; on the couch, Josh pulls Tyler into a hug; and in the shower, Josh kisses Tyler.

On those nights, Tyler and Josh sit in the spare bedroom and chew on the ends of pens and play footsie from opposite ends of the bed. "How about this?" Josh asks, and Tyler says, "Yeah, that's cool, but what about this?" and Josh smiles, and Tyler smiles.

These nights happen far more often than the mornings and the afternoons. The spare bedroom is their studio as they write lyrics and slam their emotions into their instruments. "We're gonna need to, like, record these or something," Josh says, "because these are so fucking good."

"Only after we perform them," Tyler says. "Performing these songs… They'll be real."

"Do we have a title for the record?"

Tyler thinks. He says, " _Regional At Best_ ," and Josh truly believes he's rediscovered God in that moment.

Josh takes Tyler to bed that night—possibly the first time in forever—and Tyler is more focused on popping his wrist than Josh's cock up his ass, but they get off, and Josh cleans Tyler with his tongue, and Josh fixes Tyler alphabet soup, and Tyler tells his boss he's going on vacation for his mental health, and Josh says he's going to find Tyler a drummer.

And he does. And Tyler kisses his drummer and lets his drummer spin him in circles, flowers on his feet, a green parka on his torso, and an excitable crowd yards away.

*

Before Tyler is discharged from the hospital, the doctor asks if Tyler needs any medicine.

"What… what do you mean? Like, pain pills?" Tyler is already in the wheelchair, hands on the wheels, wanting to roll and roll. "We got Tylenol at the house. It doesn't even hurt." Tyler looks at his leg.

"No," the doctor says, "I wasn't talking about pain pills."

Josh stares at the top of Tyler's head. He chews on his cheek.

"I'm fine," Tyler says. "Besides, I have a hard time swallowing pills."

And they left.

Tyler hasn't even let something as simple as Tylenol touch his lips during his recovery. Low moments came, and Josh was always close by. "Do you want anything?" he would ask, and Tyler grit his teeth and shook his head.

Doing any sort of hard drugs was never Tyler's thing. Cigarettes and alcohol were there on more than one occasion. Tyler likes his enjoyment when it comes from within, from life—but that doesn't stop him from smoking pot with Josh at a graveyard on Halloween, or when Brendon offers him some in his van after the show.

"You gotta mellow down, man," Brendon says. "You've been bouncing off the walls ever since you came off that stage."

"I'm cool." Tyler smiles. "But thanks."

Though, Tyler is smoking in minutes, and Josh has to keep him close because he remembers the last time Tyler was high, and he doesn't want that experience to happen again.

Brendon talks a lot, so Josh doesn't worry that much.

"I have no fucking idea how you were able to go do Tyler's thing and then our thing. Aren't you tired?"

"I feel fantastic," Josh says. His arms do hurt, but that comes with the job.

Tyler holds Josh's hand, legs swinging from the van, where the back doors are open. He's watching a group of people, talking excitedly and pointing their thumbs at them.

"If it gets too much, you know you can tell me, right?" Brendon raises his eyebrow. "We can get the guy who drummed when you weren't able to. Just do your thing with Tyler. You guys are great together."

"I'unno." Josh smiles. "We don't really have a thing. It's more like… three songs here and a lot of hugging there."

"Well, it fucking rocks."

Tyler lets go of Josh's hand and walks over to the group still standing and pointing. Josh calls for him to come back, while Brendon shushes him and sticks the joint in Josh's mouth. "Relax."

Josh watches. Tyler is shy, even despite being the one to approach the group. His cheeks are pink, his eyes squinty as he smiles and talks to a boy. They're high-fiving, and Tyler hugs someone to his left. Brendon is laughing, and Josh is confused. "What's going on?"

Brendon doesn't know. He takes Tyler's seat beside Josh and swings his legs, too. Laughter still hits the air. It gets louder when Tyler gestures toward the van. Soon, they're joined by Tyler and his new friends. He's giggling. Brendon is laughing harder. "They know me," Tyler says. "From Jenna's."

The group isn't large, and Josh is able to hide his face, to avoid talking, in Tyler's shoulder as he sits on Josh's lap. Tyler and Brendon are laughing and talking, mostly about music. Brendon put out the joint moments before they were surrounded. He cares, in little ways.

"Where's the rest of your band?" a girl asks Brendon.

"Went home already. Losers."

"We need to get home, too," Josh says. "It's past Tyler's bedtime."

Tyler grins and squeaks when Josh squeezes his sides. "Shut up."

"You're really good," someone tells Tyler. "Are you going to perform again?"

"Maybe."

"With Josh?"

Tyler shrugs. "Maybe." Even if Tyler's sitting on Josh's lap, Josh can see his smile as plain as day. "Do you think I should?"

An uproar. Tyler says, "Whoa."

"You can't do it without Josh!" someone says.

"You're better with Josh!" another says.

"There you go, Josh," Brendon says, clapping a hand on Josh's back.

Tyler is smiling.

*

Due to either his high tolerance or just by sheer willpower, Brendon sobers up to drive Josh and Tyler home long before they feel remotely clearheaded.

"Get some rest," he says. "We have a big day tomorrow."

Tyler got in bed and stared at the ceiling and asked Josh, "What about the day after tomorrow?"

"Guess, guess, guess," Josh said, and Tyler said, "Another show, another show."

Josh had thought he'd be able to perform with both Tyler and Brendon, yet after the third night, Josh is exhausted. Brendon tells Josh to focus on Tyler. Josh whines. At home, he's whining again, but it's out of real pain and not out of wanting to be annoying.

"Tyler, I really can't move my hands."

Tyler wraps packs of ice in paper towels and holds them to Josh's wrists. Thankfully Josh is in bed when he discovers how sore he actually is. Relax, he tells himself. "Relax," Tyler says, reading Josh's mind, smiling at Josh, crying. Tyler is crying. "You did really well tonight."

"Why are you crying?"

"You did really well tonight," Tyler repeats.

They play songs they wrote together, topping the night off with Tyler's cover of "Can't Help Falling in Love" on his ukulele and Josh sitting at his feet. Josh hugged him on the first night, kissed him on the second, and was barely able to hold his hand on the third.

Josh cries, too. "Massage them. Please."

Tyler removes an ice pack and presses his thumbs into the skin beneath the bend of Josh's wrist. The slightest pressure squeezes more tears from Josh's eyes. He groans and whines, and Tyler powers through it, rubbing the muscles under Josh's skin. "Right there?" he asks.

"A little lower."

Whimpering now, Josh bites a hole in his cheek. "Keep going," Josh says, and Tyler does.

Tyler moves onto his other wrist, and this pain is dull, and it puts Josh to sleep.

*

On the fourth night, Tyler opens up a package of wristbands he bought earlier that day. He slides them onto Josh's wrists, tight and red. "Go easy," Tyler says, and chuckles. "That's funny."

Josh goes easy. As Tyler is strumming the last chord on his ukulele, Josh stands and envelopes Tyler in an embrace. Tyler takes this as good news, but as soon as they're in the back of Brendon's van, Josh is leaning into Tyler. Head lolling on Tyler's shoulder, his breath coming out in short gasps, Josh thinks the world is coming to an end.

"It's been a while," Tyler says, arms around Josh's torso. It's been a while, he said, but it hasn't been a while. Josh played with Tyler at their apartment. He wants to shout. Instead he holds out his hands, and Tyler rubs his thumbs into Josh's wrists once more. Josh doesn't cry this time.

"I'll call you when we have another venue lined up," Brendon says. "It might be a while."

"If you don't want us here, Brendon, just be up front about it."

"I want you to get better. That's all. Besides, we need to practice a bit more if we're gonna go to a big city."

"Text me, okay?"

"'Course, Josh."

They go home that night. Josh's wrists are throbbing. He holds Tyler that night, Tyler's lips against his wrists, wet, parted, tickling with his snores.

In the morning, Josh wakes late. He wakes to Tyler getting back into bed, a bowl of soup in toll. "I can feed you," Tyler says. "Read it first."

"Love you so much" is spelled out, but it's misspelled. The letters got rearranged on Tyler's way up the stairs. He pouts. Josh kisses Tyler's cheek. "Love you, too, baby boy."

If anyone can blush while feeding their boyfriend soup, it would be Tyler.

*

Tyler goes to work more part-time than anything. His boss doesn't want to overwork him, considering his "fragile" mental state. "What the heck does that mean?" Tyler asks one evening, hand in a potato chip bag. "Only thing 'fragile' about me is my ass."

"And what the heck does that mean?" Josh asks.

Blushing, Tyler keeps quiet. Josh sets his head on Tyler's shoulder.

Tyler urges Josh to stay home and recover, but Josh slips on wrist braces and smiles.

 _i can pick you up AnyTime,_ Tyler sends Josh as soon as he drops Josh off, _and i will take you home and take care of you until you get better_

_Just my wrists Ty_

_you need your wrists. josh. you need your wrists so bad._

_Tyler_

_joshua_

_I'll be fine. Thanks for the offer tho_

Josh can't even make it a week before he's telling Brendon he needs to go home. "Sorry to leave you hanging, dude."

"Dude," Brendon fires back, "I want you to get better."

So, Josh texts Tyler.

_Can hardly type this message Ty, need you to pick me up_

_< 3 love you, be there soon_

Tyler is there in an impossible amount of time. Or maybe Josh lost track. He sat outside the little record store, legs to his chest, arms hanging loose by his sides. Tyler pulls up in his pickup truck and smiles a warm smile at Josh. "Josh, man, I'm so proud of you."

It's stupid. Josh feels a sinking in his chest. Before he knows it, he's crying in the passenger seat of this truck he didn't even want to buy. He's pounding his wrists on his thighs, hard, unyielding. Still throbbing, still hurting, nothing Josh will do will compare to this pain. He wants it to stop. It stops if he forces his body to be like ice, forces his body to be still, be quiet, be invisible.

They're still in Tyler's truck. Tyler is driving. Eyes wide, shoulders stiff, he is uncomfortable. He doesn't know what to do. He can't do anything. He's driving. In the parking lot of their apartment, Tyler moves. He does something. He turns to Josh and talks to him. Josh is trying to be a statue at this time, staring straight ahead at the neat brick of the building's exterior. "Josh, listen to me," Tyler says, "breathe in… breathe out."

Josh breathes in. Josh breathes out.

Tyler is a saint. "A bath?" He touches Josh's elbow. "I can wash your hair."

"Okay." Josh nods. "Yeah."

Warm water helps. Josh keeps his forearms beneath the bubbles, his head tilted back as he fights to relax. Tyler is in his head. Breathe in, breathe out.

In the next room, in their bedroom, Tyler is chewing on his thumbnail and watching wrist exercises on YouTube. When he joins Josh in the bathroom, he will be an orthopedic surgeon. But now, he's a nervous man rocking on his bed, his cell phone inches from his face, absorbing anything that can help his hurting boyfriend.

Enter said hurting boyfriend, rocking in the tub while the nervous man is rocking on the bed. Unbearable pain, no solutions, nothing, nothing, the worst comes to mind.

Josh opens his eyes.

It's one of those intrusive thoughts, the ones that pop in with no want nor need. Josh has had these thoughts before. High places, his first instinct is to jump. A can of pop in front of him, he gets the desire to wiggle off the tab and swallow it. Wrists not quite broken but hurting as if they were, Josh wants to find a knife and cut open his skin.

It goes on.

He's getting the tip of the knife inside, twisting it, digging out veins and muscles. As the blood drips into the bath water, the pain leaves. It's a release. Josh understands why Tyler wanted the rubber bands in his skin. It's a release. It's a release.

"All right," Tyler says. "Do what I do." Phone in his pocket, the video he just watched still pulled up, Tyler sits on the floor by the tub. Hands raised, Tyler is about to show Josh a wrist stretch that will help. He's stopped. Josh stops him. He's saying it.

"If I were to kill myself, I'd do it with a gun."

Breathe in, breathe out.

Tyler lowers his hands. "That's messy. And violent. I wouldn't go out that way."

"You'd do it in the bathtub. You told me that. I would, too. Call up Bath Fitter right after. Good as new."

"Why with a gun?"

"You're right." Josh sighs. "My wrists would give out. I'd miss. Or I wouldn't miss and end up surviving. Become a vegetable. Pull the plug, Tyler."

"What about cutting yourself?"

"Thought about it," Josh says, and neglects to mention how recent he's thought of it. "Too slow. Could be found before dying."

Tyler looks down. He raises his hands, like he wants to go on and help out Josh's wrists, but he's as bad as Josh. No—Josh is as bad as Tyler.

"Pills," Tyler says.

"Maybe. I'd be scared I wouldn't die. Just get really sick."

"Yeah. That's right." Tyler frowns. "Hanging."

Josh shakes his head. "Tyler—"

Breathe in, breathe out.

"Breathe in, breathe out," Tyler says, and gets on his knees. Firm, he touches Josh's chest and forces him to sit upright. "I can see you going down the violent route," he mutters. "Blowing your brains out. Jumping in front of a car." Tyler closes his eyes. "Breathe in, breathe out."

"Show me those stretches," Josh says. "Please. I can't think about this. I can't talk about this."

"You brought it up."

"You brought it up, Tyler."

They're looking at each other, dark eyes, big pupils, lips parted, red, angry, passion.

"This one is basic," Tyler says, and takes hold of his fingers, bending them back until they are unable to do it anymore. "And then, you do it the other way… Yeah, that's good. That's really good, Josh."

*

Josh does the exercises whenever he can. If Tyler is not at work, he's doing them with Josh. "Extra help is good," Tyler says.

Josh tries to go to work. "No heavy lifting," he says, so he handles the customers, punching the cash register and gingerly passing over correct change.

Tyler wants him to stay home.

"Why?"

Tyler doesn't answer that. "Can you get my notebook?"

"Spare room?"

"Yeah." The couch cushions are dipped from Tyler's body stretched across them. He's twisted around, about ready to fall asleep, yet wanting to write.

Josh finds the notebook on the desk. Yellow cover bent, the spiral spine coming undone, the pages are filling up faster than any other notebook in Tyler's possession. This notebook is different from the others—it has Josh. Josh writes in it with Tyler, late at night, curled into each other on the bed Josh hated as soon as he looked at it. Most of Josh's writings don't amount to anything, but Tyler appreciates Josh's insight all the same.

Tyler might want Josh to practice writing. He's avoided as much since his wrists began acting up. He didn't need to find out how hard it was to hold a pencil.

On the floor by the desk, like it got blown away from either a body passing or the door closing, a folded sheet of paper rests. The edges are ragged, carelessly ripped from the notebook currently in Josh's hands. He sets down the notebook and crouches to pick up the paper.

"Summer" is written across it, in Tyler's handwriting. It's on the first line, alone, begging for it to be paired with another word, with many words, with paragraphs, with pages. Josh places it on the desk. Tyler must be in the middle of writing a song. Why would he tear it out of the notebook? That's not like Tyler.

Notebook with him, a pen stuffed in the spine, Josh goes downstairs. Tyler is awake—barely. His hair is stuck up oddly, his eyes half-lidded. "Hey," Tyler says. "Had a sort of… dream. In that in-between stage of sleep and… being awake." He pushes away the notebook when Josh gives it to him. "Want you to write it."

Josh frowns. "Tyler, I don't think—"

"Start it like this…" Tyler's head hits the back of the couch. "'I wake up fine and dandy… but then… by the time I find it handy…'"

*

Brendon sits on a milk crate in the back room, a cigarette in his fingers, his body turned toward the open window. "April, I think. Middle of April. You'll be okay by then, won't you?"

Josh is stacking boxes, no help, no braces, running on stretches every morning and Tyler massaging his wrists every night. "Definitely."

"We're going to Pennsylvania," Brendon says. "Does that change your mind?"

"Hell no."

"Tyler?"

"He goes where I go. And vice versa. Pretty much."

It's wishful thinking. Josh assumes, and he soon learns he had assumed correctly.

Late Sunday night is when Tyler finds out, Brendon having told Josh the previous Thursday. With no foreseeable reason, it had slipped from Josh's mind. He had every opportunity to tell Tyler. Tyler never leaves his side. He's with Josh everywhere, even sits on the bathroom floor when Josh uses it. Should that be weird? It's not like they haven't held a conversation while one of them was sat on the toilet, though at least the other was out of the room as it happened.

It doesn't matter.

Josh thinks Tyler has some sort of ulterior motive. Why won't he leave Josh alone? Josh is fine. It's not like he's… _oh_.

"Oh."

"Wha'?" Tyler's thumb pauses on the TV remote. "Did you want me to go back?"

"No."

Tyler furrows his brow and continues in his channel search.

Sunday is when Josh tests this theory. He wakes before Tyler and sits on the couch to eat his cereal. As if he's tagged, Tyler is pounding down the stairs, eyes wide, clothes wrinkled and his shirt sleeve loose and hanging off a shoulder. "Josh?"

Josh fills his mouth with cereal.

"Josh?" Tyler is panicking, his voice high. Josh's stomach twists. He stops in his eating. "Josh, I—there you are." Tyler touches his chest. "Scared me."

"Why?" Josh deadpans.

Tyler blinks. Josh can witness the backtrack going through his head. "Because I had a bad dream, and you weren't there to listen to me talk about it."

"You never tell me about your dreams."

"I do, too! Loads of times."

"You really d—"

Tyler rolls his eyes. "Shut up. I'm—I…" He sighs and drops next to Josh. They're quiet. Josh eats. Tyler shuts his eyes.

After this, Josh goes outside. In minutes, Tyler is shouting for him again. In a plume of cigarette smoke, Tyler finds him on the back porch. "There you are."

"Yes…"

Tyler sits with him.

Josh can't be alone. Tyler won't let him be left alone. Tyler won't let him _shower_ alone.

"What if your wrists, like, uh, u-um…"

"Explode? I'll be okay, Tyler."

But Tyler showers with him. He can't really complain. Josh pins Tyler to the wall, and Tyler pulls Josh's hair, and Josh bites Tyler's neck, and they're both rocking their hips and coming on their stomachs.

Orgasms long gone, they stand under the stream of water until it runs cold. Staring at each other, breathing, they're unable to form coherent words. Whatever is in Tyler's head is sure to be in Josh's own—static, empty, empty. Josh doesn't know what to do.

"We should get out," Tyler says.

"Right," Josh says.

Fingers pruning, they touch faces and necks. Tyler's neck is red with teeth marks. It looks beautiful and forbidden.

"Brendon is thinking about the middle of April."

"Okay."

"Pennsylvania," Josh adds.

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"Sick."

*

"Another thing," Brendon says. "You know that drummer who we had filling in for you? Well, uh… he's with us permanently now."

"So…"

"I told you. I've been telling you this, Josh: Be with Tyler."

Josh tells Tyler this later that day. This is important.

And Tyler _loves_ it. He's sticking fries in his mouth, mouth full, talking with his mouth full. "We're doing this! We're doing this, Josh!"

In the spare room, they fill up the rest of the notebook with ideas for logos and band names. "Only two of us," Tyler says. "We need to be… amazing."

Out of all their ideas, only one sticks. As Tyler says it with finality and elegance, Josh can hear it with a voice so wrecked and torn it raises goosebumps. Tyler is jumping on the bed, his smile the brightest smile in the world, but Josh is seeing Tyler press his body to the head of the bed, curled and tucked into the corner of the wall as he chokes up and says, "He murdered twenty-one pilots, Josh."

*

Before they leave, Tyler meets with his friends. The first words out of their mouths are "Tyler! We thought you were dead!"

Once close, but Tyler met Josh. Once close, but Tyler is Tyler, and Tyler is a pro at isolation. Once close, but not anymore, so they would have no way of knowing Tyler's trip to the hospital. Why would he tell them? He's telling them now, and it ruins the mood for the rest of the evening.

"I almost died! Fucking cut myself, but I'm a coward and called for Josh, and look—a gnarly scar!"

Josh puts on the wristbands to avoid talking. He feels eyes on him, but he doesn't look up, just sits at the drums.

They record the songs they've written and practiced in their apartment. Tyler is crying when they finish. Josh wipes away the tears with his thumbs. "Okay?"

"More than okay."

*

They follow Brendon's van. Clouds above are black with rain. Josh checks his phone every thirty minutes. "It says it's not supposed to rain."

"Maybe it'll pass."

Lightning flashes. Thunder roars.

"Maybe we'll beat it."

They see the rain fall on Brendon's van. It's on them within seconds. Tyler laughs.

Nighttime, pouring the rain, the motel off the side of the road is cheap with flickering lights.

"This is okay?" asks Brendon, on the phone, both parties in their cars to stay dry. "Google says this place offers free Wi-Fi, so it's as good as any."

"How thin are the walls?" Tyler leans over to say into the phone.

Brendon pauses. "Okay, we're definitely not gonna get the room next to you guys."

Quarter until midnight, the rain lets up enough for them to sprint inside. Limited rooms are available. Brendon is disappointed to find out he'll be forced to occupy the room next to Josh and Tyler.

Standing in the hallway, Brendon points at each of them. "I'm not going to stop you two from… being like rabbits, but at least be quiet? Try to? Maybe?"

"No promises," Tyler sings, and pulls Josh into their room.

The door closes, and Josh discovers Tyler is all talk. He slings his drenched parka over the back of a chair and works off his shoes. The rest of his clothing falls into a heap on the floor. And although he's naked, Tyler curls under the bed covers and doesn't do much else in terms of seduction, as he's led Brendon to believe.

Josh sits at the foot of the bed, clothes on, focused on the television and the basic cable they have. "How soft is the bed?"

"Surprisingly soft."

"Move over, will you?"

It's not like the bed at their apartment, but Josh can't deny how soft it is. He falls asleep with his arms around Tyler.

*

Brendon's band is the main act, but the crowd is just as excited to see Tyler and Josh.

From their first song about sleep to their last song about trees, their audience never stops bouncing or screaming. Josh recognizes some faces. Would someone have followed them? Do they already have such devoted fans?

Back stage, Tyler is wiping sweat from his face with a towel. "Never even thought about merch," he says. "We should at least sell our music somewhere."

"We can put it on iTunes, can't we?" Josh hugs Tyler around the middle.

Tyler playfully pushes him away. "Might as well. We can't have some asshole selling it on Amazon for a thousand bucks when we're rich and famous."

*

Being on the road with Brendon is fun. Performing with Brendon is fun. Josh notices a change in Tyler; he's happier.

After every show, they hang around Brendon's van, and a small group of the audience for that night finds them. Brendon is high after every show, and he always puts it out and bats it away when the newcomers arrive.

Tyler attracts them. He waves them over and gives hugs to whoever wants them. They talk about music. Tyler gets out his ukulele sometimes and sings with them.

"You and Josh are together, right?" a boy with a shaved head asks, picking at his fingers with chewed nails. "Someone before the show said you were, and then someone got angry and said you two weren't gay, and I don't know why I'm asking you this because it's personal, but I-I don't know."

Josh hugs him before Tyler can. "It's okay," he says.

"We are together, but… like, we aren't gay. We prefer… uh, _you know_ , queer," Tyler clarifies, scratching the back of his head. "I don't know why that person would have gotten angry. There's nothing wrong with loving someone the same gender as yourself. So, uh, that person isn't cool. We don't condone that malarkey."

"They're not our friends," Josh says.

"Our friends are accepting. They don't act like that."

"They were… She's my friend," the boy mumbles.

Tyler is hugging him now. "Is this your first time seeing us?" At the shaking head, Tyler laughs. "How can your friend be so blind to see how much I love Josh? Every time we perform, I play 'Can't Help Falling in Love', and every time I play it, I dedicate it to Josh. Every time. We kissed tonight. I flirt with him constantly. Did she shut her eyes and plug her ears at that?"

The boy is laughing, too. "She did seem quiet. She left right after the show ended."

Josh's eyes widen. "Dude, do you have a ride home?"

"Yeah! We drove separately."

Tyler sighs. "Thank God." His eyes go twice as wide as Josh's. "Do you have our CD yet? We'll gift it to you on iTunes."

*

Tyler runs into Brendon's room at three in the morning. Josh can hear him from their room. Tyler is jumping on Brendon's bed, asking if it's possible they could get confetti and shoot it into the crowd.

"Yeah, yeah, now get off me. Fucking need to sleep this off."

For their last show in Pennsylvania, confetti joins them on stage. Falling like snow on New Year's Eve, the place is stained with all the colors of the rainbow. Brendon doesn't even care he has to come on after this mess. He sings and dances and skips, all with a smile on his face.

Tyler leans against Josh. "Love you so much."

For their last night in Pennsylvania, Josh pushes Tyler to the soft motel bed. Tyler rolls them over, Josh on his back, and then Tyler is on his back. They're rolling, wrestling, kissing with too much saliva and not enough control. Josh sticks his fingers in Tyler's mouth and strokes his tongue. Tyler arches off the bed. Josh pops the button off Tyler's skinny jeans, then stops. Tyler is flaccid. Tyler is moaning. Tyler is talking around Josh's fingers, dirty mouth, dirty mind, déjà vu.

"Please," Tyler says, his lips connected to Josh's fingers by a single string of drool. "Spit on me."

Josh does. There was no need to think. He didn't even try to back out of it. Degrading, Josh told Tyler that the first time he asked, and now he's lying on his back, lips pink, and Josh's spit on his cheek. "Thank you," he whispers, eyes closing.

"No, don't…" Josh tries. His argument is weak and doesn't go far.

Tyler raises his hand. His fingers are shaking, but his grip is strong as he pulls Josh's hair. Josh gasps. Tyler kisses him. He kisses Tyler.

Like in the spare bedroom, they're rough, all teeth and all nails. Josh wouldn't consider this sex, despite them both climaxing at the end.

Thirty minutes, it takes thirty minutes for them to reach this.

Tyler tugs off their clothes first. They lie on top of each other and kiss and scratch each other. In the morning, Josh shouldn't be wondering why he was bruised and maimed more than Tyler when he's bending to Tyler's will, telling him to bite his shoulder, his stomach, no, his thighs, hit him.

"Hit me, Tyler."

Tyler's palm is wet, and it smacks into Josh's cheek with a stinging slap.

They're quiet. They're breathing.

"Again," Josh says, and Tyler does.

"Again," Josh says, and Tyler does it for a second time, and a third, and a fourth. This is Josh's rubber band.

"Stop," Josh says, and Tyler launches himself at Josh, arms around shoulders, mouth to mouth, panting, whining, and Josh whines with him. He grabs the backs of Tyler's thighs, squeezes until his nails draw blood.

Tyler comes from this. Josh comes from this. He comes with Tyler's body twitching on top of him, Tyler begging God for forgiveness in his ear, Tyler's semen on his cock.

In the morning, Josh is sore. Tyler and he are bloody—dry and even some fresh, from wounds opening, as they start the day. Josh's cheek is purple. Tyler gingerly kisses it.

It's expected of Brendon to make jokes when he sees them. "You never told me you two were into some kinky shit!"

But Brendon doesn't joke. He's smoking, talking with his band members, and waiting for Tyler and Josh. And when Tyler and Josh show up, Brendon's band gets into the van, and Brendon stays behind. He hands Josh his cigarette and says, "I heard you two last night. It's none of my business, but are you okay?"

Tyler steals the cigarette and goes toward his truck.

Josh's eyes and cheek burn. "I don't fucking know—what happened or if we're okay, or, or _what_." He shakes his head. "We're fine.

"I didn't ask you that. I asked if _you_ were okay."

Josh shrugs. "We're fine," he repeats stubbornly.

Brendon nods and lights another cigarette. "Do you think Ohio missed us?"

*

"What was that?" Josh asked, in the bathtub, and Tyler said, "Fun."

Tyler got sick after that, and he spent the following days in bed with Josh, eating chicken noodle soup and wrapping a large black scarf around his neck. Josh made him sick. Josh feels sick today, as they're driving home to Ohio. Tyler is bobbing his head along to some song on the radio. Josh looks out the window. It's going to rain again.

The mood in the truck is less than ideal. Awkward, uncomfortable, Josh thought they were past this, but from the corner of his eye, he catches Tyler staring at him. Does he like what he sees? Josh's cheek, shiny and bruised, is facing him. What is Tyler thinking about? Is remorse in his veins, or is there no room for guilt? Tyler's eyes are alive, though—no dead-eyed stare like before. He's concerned. Tyler wants to say something.

But Josh says something. "Please stop looking at me."

"Are your wrists hurting?"

"No."

Tyler fiddles with the radio, switching stations. "That's good. I worried they might be."

"They're not."

Tyler's knuckles are white against the steering wheel. "That's good."

Lightning cracks the sky in two. Thunder is close behind. Four more hours to go. Roughly.

Josh unties his shoes and shoves them to the floor. He hugs his legs. Tyler doesn't look at him.

*

One more hour. Brendon and his friends stop somewhere to eat. Tyler says he's good to drive, and Josh tells Brendon he'll text him when they get home.

"Really glad you came with us, guys. I appreciate it."

"This is what I live for," Tyler says, and Josh agrees silently.

One more hour, and Josh is on his phone, scrolling through social media and trying not to watch Tyler watch him. "Please stop looking at me," Josh has said in half-hour increments, and Tyler hasn't listened. He's still looking at Josh. Please, Tyler, stop. "Stop," Josh whispers.

One more hour, and Josh is on his phone, and Tyler is looking at him. Josh is on his phone, exiting out of social media and tapping onto his voice recordings. The day after Halloween, Tyler rocked on the back porch, beer can in hand, and wanted to be left alone. "Just had a bad trip," he said, and didn't explain it any further. Josh lay next to Tyler in the bed of his truck, smoking marijuana and listening to Tyler. "I saw something," he said. "Demons," he said. "They were black and red, and their eyes were huge." And Josh asked what they were saying, and Tyler pulled the zipper on his skeleton hoodie up, up, up, and said, "I can't tell you."

"Why won't you believe me?" the Tyler on Josh's phone is saying, his voice high, like he's shouting. Here comes pounding—he's beating on the steering wheel. "They were there, Josh! They were on their tombstones, all white, all black, all red. They waved at me, and they told me to come over to them. They wanted me. They told me to visit them, to tell them about you. They told me you were dying, that the last thing I'm going to see of you is your body in my arms. I tried to ignore them, but they were so loud, Josh. How come you didn't hear them? You were there, Josh. Josh, you were right beside me. They kept pointing at you and pulling your hair. Didn't you feel that, Josh?"

Tyler's eyes are glossed over. He chews on his lip. Josh is looking at him now.

"I didn't feel anything, Tyler," the Josh on the recording says.

"Some of them had wings, I think. I don't know. There were demons. Ghosts. They had horns. Josh, they were there. They told me you were dying, that I was going to watch you die. It was going to happen at night, they said, and I wouldn't be able to do anything about it. They told me I wouldn't even know it was happening until it fucking happened. Josh, are you listening to me? Josh, you're dying. I'm dying. I'm going to die. I don't know what to do."

In the driver's seat, Tyler's shoulders begin to shake. Tears drip down his cheeks. Josh looks at him.

"But then, before we left, they told me they were lying. Josh, do I believe them?"

"I wouldn't."

"Why do you say that, Josh? You didn't hear them… You didn't hear them."

The recording ends. They had pulled into the apartment's parking lot, and Josh refused to open the app itself for months. Josh's hand is shaking as he struggles to return his phone into his pocket. Tyler is still crying, but it's less so now. "You _didn't_ hear them," he says, like it matters now. Does it matter now? Tyler sniffs. "And I still don't know what to do."

Josh keeps quiet.

"I've been thinking about that for ages, and all this time, you've had it on your Goddamn phone." Tyler pushes buttons on the radio. He tries to get anything else to play. It's all ads. He wipes his face on his sleeve. "Delete that. I don't want to… to…"

Josh takes out his phone and deletes it.

Tyler looks better. He's breathing a lot better. But Josh, he's hyperventilating and hiding it from Tyler, his hand with his jacket sleeve pulled over it covering his mouth. Sometime during this, Tyler finds a radio station that plays music, and Josh blacks out. He wakes at the apartment with a migraine. Tyler is out of the truck. Standing by Josh's side, with the car door open, Tyler's arms are stretched forward, in position to lift Josh from his seat to carry him inside. Josh catches him. Tyler blinks. "I already texted Brendon. Let him know we made it back." Tyler licks his lips. "I thought you were still sleeping."

Josh shakes his head.

Tyler picks him up anyway. Josh closes his eyes.

*

When was the last time Tyler held him?

*

They don't get out of bed at all the next day.

Every time Josh wakes, Tyler is snoring.

And every time Tyler wakes, Josh is pretending to be asleep.

*

Monday they go to work and act as if they hadn't been a state over with thousands of people screaming for them and singing their songs. Josh adjusts to this quite well. Brendon, on the other hand, has an ego. On their break, Brendon talks and talks, and Josh listens and listens.

Tyler texts him. _have you read the reviews people have left on our album on itunes?_

_No._

_all nice words_

_That's cool_

Tyler sends Josh screenshots. Brendon is now talking just to hear his own voice.

_Wow_

_i know, i'm so proud of us_

_Yeah_

_i'm getting a new notebook after work, do you need anything?_

_You_ , Josh almost sends. He frowns. _Nah, I'm good_

"Dude," Brendon says, "are you even listening to me?"

*

This notebook is red, and Josh isn't allowed to read it.

"Will I?" Josh asks. "Later?"

Tyler bounces the pen off his bottom lip. "Maybe. In time."

"Okay."

*

No break, Tyler goes to Jenna's bar and sings.

"Do you want to come with me?" Tyler stares at Josh, tucked neatly into a ball underneath the bed covers.

"I'm tired, Tyler."

Jenna sends Josh a video of it, though. Bless her.

*

Tyler begins to give Josh some space. It doesn't make any sense. Before, Josh wasn't giving off warning bells—at least not consciously.

Now, though, when Josh thinks he's showing more signs than ever, Tyler deems it acceptable for Josh to be alone for hours on end.

Why? Josh chews holes in his cheeks and turns the drool stains on his pillow into blood stains. Tyler still climbs into bed every night and sleeps next to Josh, never touching, never moving, cold.

Josh is cold. "Tyler?"

Tyler is half-asleep, but he jolts awake at Josh's voice. His fingers were in his hair, pushing back the damp strands of brown until he grew still and forgot his hand was there. At Josh's voice, his hand drops to his side, hitting the mattress with a gentle thud. Pins and needles attach to his arm, and he curls his fingers with a grimace. "Yeah, Josh?"

"Kiss me."

It's like New Year's, but softer. Tyler is on his stomach, picking at his fingernails afterward. "Tasted like blood."

"Did you like that?"

"No," Tyler says, "I didn't tonight." He sets his head on his pillow and pulls the blanket up to their shoulders. "Go to sleep. It'll be okay in the morning."

Josh says, "Tyler?"

Tyler says, "What?"

"Why did you write 'Summer' on that sheet of paper? Did you… did you ever finish?"

He isn't looking at Josh. "Finish… What are you—oh, no, I haven't finished. I didn't know how to finish it."

"Maybe I could help?"

"Maybe." Tyler pats Josh's arm and rolls away. "Go to sleep."

It takes an hour, but Josh goes to sleep.

*

"It'll be okay in the morning," Tyler said, and in the morning, it is okay.

Tyler kisses Josh in the morning. He fumbles for the lubricant in the morning.

Josh kisses Tyler in the morning. He spreads his legs in the morning, and Tyler fucks him in the morning.

And it's okay in the morning.

*

Tyler says he tries to write a poem for Josh in his alphabet soup, but there wasn't enough letters. "And I didn't have enough patience."

"Understandable." Josh laughs. Tyler hesitates, but he laughs with him.

*

It gets warmer. Maybe Tyler will finish the song now, or does it have to officially be summer? The start of summer is a few days after Josh's birthday. Can Tyler go that long without finishing a song?

Is it even a song?

Josh shakes his head. What else could it be?

He waits until the night of his birthday to ask Tyler about his progress. After a day of stuffing their faces with cake, ducking each other under the pool water, and ignoring the worrying looks from Josh's mom, Josh thought Tyler would be in a good mood. And he is, but as soon as Josh asks if he needs help with any songs, he grows agitated. "If I need help, I'll ask you, Josh."

"Right. Okay."

They go to sleep. Josh dreams about drowning. Tyler shouts for him in his dream, hand sticking from the water like a zombie rising from the grave. Upon waking, Josh fears the worst. His track record with dreaming about Tyler isn't good.

But he can breathe. Tyler is next to him, sleeping soundly. Josh turns in bed, facing Tyler, and studies Tyler until he wakes, or he falls asleep. It's the latter. Josh doesn't dream again that night.

*

It's the official start of summer. Tyler doesn't say anything, and Josh doesn't either.

Tyler rides Josh, and it's over before they can comprehend what's going on. Nobody bleeds. Nobody ends up crying. Tyler worked three fingers into himself and sat on Josh's cock and bounced and milked him and came on his stomach.

Josh holds Tyler, and Tyler holds his Squirtle plushie as the television provides background noise.

Josh is alone in the bed come morning. The sheets are cold, like it's been unoccupied for some time. On the floor is the Squirtle toy, the corner of the blanket hiding it from view. Josh returns it to the bed before getting up. He pulls on clothes and checks his phone. Noon. Tyler wouldn't be up any earlier than eleven. He isn't a morning person.

Downstairs, a can of alphabet soup is on the counter. The soup is fixed, resting in a bowl gone chilled. Josh peers into the bowl.

The letters have moved, but the message is clear.

 _Please don't be mad_.

Josh puts on his shoes and runs.

*

First instinct, gut instinct.

Josh is invincible.

*

At the park, behind the swing sets, under a cherry tree, Josh finds Tyler.

He looks peaceful, leaning against the tree with a pair of sunglasses on his face. His backpack is tossed onto the ground beside him, zipped up, do not disturb. A crumpled sheet of notebook paper is in his fist.

He looks peaceful.

Josh can't scream for him because there are children nearby. Why haven't they noticed Tyler? Surely the parents have seen? No, they haven't because they're talking and sitting on benches. If they're not paying attention to their kids, then why would they pay attention to the man beneath the cherry tree?

The ground under the tree is bare, the roots sticking out, made for sitting. Tyler's managed to find a space to squeeze himself into, two large roots acting as armrests. Josh drops between Tyler's legs, a hundred thoughts flooding into his head. What does he do? Does he shake him? Is he already dead? What does he do? What does he do?

Tyler looks peaceful.

Josh sniffs. Breathe in, breathe out. "Tyler," he says, "please."

Tyler stirs.

Breathe in, breathe out.

"Josh?"

"I'm here. I remembered. Yeah?" Josh touches Tyler's leg. "Tyler…"

"Hm."

Josh carefully slips the paper from Tyler's grasp and stuffs it into his back pocket. Breathe in, breathe out. Don't be mad. "Do I… do you… _hospital_ …? Do we need to go to the hospital?" Josh doesn't see any blood, but that doesn't mean anything. Josh didn't drive. Tyler didn't drive. Josh had run here, his shoelaces untied. He forgot his phone.

He cries—a little. Josh forces himself to stop. Attracting attention would be bad. Breathe in, breathe out.

"Breathe in, breathe out," Tyler says, groggy, pushing himself, sitting up. His movements are uncoordinated, his arms limp as he fights to sit upright without the aid of the tree trunk behind him. "You're… uh… going to get sick."

Josh reaches up and takes off Tyler's sunglasses. Tyler squints, covering his eyes with his palms. "Shit, give 'em back."

"Tyler, what did you do?"

"Nothin'."

"Tyler, what did you take?"

"NyQuil."

Josh blinks. "NyQuil?"

"Yeah, NyQuil. Can I have my sunglasses?"

Josh puts them back on for Tyler. Tyler slumps against the tree. He groans. "Thanks."

NyQuil. Josh frowns and grabs Tyler's backpack. It's old, been shoved into a closet after they moved in. Tyler kept his condoms and lubricant in this, but today there's rattling inside, like pill bottles. Josh stiffens. " _Tyler_."

"Didn't take those. Can't. I… I couldn't." Tyler's head lolls onto his shoulder. "M'tired. Wanted to sleep. Lemme sleep."

"You could have slept at the house, Tyler. You didn't have to go out here and do it."

Tyler is quiet.

Josh shakes Tyler's knee. "Don't you fucking dare."

Tyler grumbles. "Lemme sleep," he repeats.

"Not here. It's too hot. I'm taking you home." Josh rubs his eyes. "Tyler, I love you."

Tyler smiles. It's weak, but he smiles. He pushes the sunglasses up onto his head, eyes squinting again as he looks at Josh. Nothing on his face reads _suicidal_. He's sleepy, cuddly.

Josh loves him. He loves him so much.

"Can you stand?"

"Pro'ly. Dunno if I can walk."

"Here." Josh slides the sunglasses to rest on Tyler's nose and takes Tyler's backpack, slinging it around and helping Tyler stick his arms through. He holds Tyler's hands then, picking him off the ground. "Gonna need you to do one more thing for me, Ty. Jump. Use everything you got."

Josh spins on his heels and crouches. Tyler jumps, climbing onto Josh's back. Tyler is so light. Josh takes Tyler's thighs, and Tyler loosely wraps his arms around Josh's shoulders. "Mm, you're warm, Joshie."

They walk home.

Tyler drools on Josh. "Hey, Josh," he slurs. "Josh."

"What is it, Tyler?"

"The rat's name was Mr. Gullible."

Josh furrows his brow. "What? What rat?"

"On New Year's. On the wheel."

"Oh." Josh parts his lips. "How'd you know that?"

"Jenna tol' me fo'ever a'o."

"Jenna? So, that was Jenna's rat?"

"Yeah."

"That was Jenna's house?"

"Yeah."

"Do you know what that means?" asks Josh, and Tyler nods and hugs Josh tighter, his sunglasses digging into the curve of Josh's neck.

*

Josh is tired.

*

Tyler sleeps for ten hours. Beside him, Josh is watching television, reading the subtitles, and listening to Tyler snore. When Tyler stops snoring, Josh checks on him. This time, Tyler is awake. He's rolling onto his stomach, lips chapped, eyes crusted at the edges.

"What?" he says, and Josh smiles.

"What?"

Tyler sighs. "Shouldn't've done that."

"Better NyQuil than overdosing on Tylenol." Josh gives Tyler a look.

One eye open, Tyler lazily slides his foot over and kicks Josh. "Shut up."

"We don't even have anything in this house you _can_ overdose on."

"I said, shut up."

"Tylenol."

"Fuckin' shut up."

"Go to sleep."

Tyler is out like a light, his body attempting to flush out the NyQuil in his system as fast as it can. Josh goes in the bathroom and takes some, too, the liquid scorching his throat. He settles down next to Tyler, and neither of them get up for the next twelve hours.

*

They don't talk about it.

The closest they get to it is Tyler walking by the laundry room and seeing Josh stand next to the washer with jeans in one hand and a piece of paper in the other. "What's that?" Tyler points.

Josh is trembling. He reads it aloud. "'Summer is when I'm going to finally kill myself.'"

Tyler's eyes widen. He tries to take the paper, but Josh is twisting, turning, and he's shouting now, crying, crying so badly.

"'I can't do it. I'm sitting under this cherry tree, and I'm thinking about Josh, and I love Josh, I love him so damn much, and I don't know why I keep doing this to him. Sleeping will set me straight, right? I'll sleep and wake up, and my head will be clear, and then I will be okay.'"

"Josh—" Tyler grabs the paper. It rips. Fortunately, Josh has the half he has yet to read.

He continues, even louder. "'Maybe next time I won't be a coward. Maybe next time I'll sit in that bathtub and blow my brains out and have Josh find me. I have to let him find me. It'll be good if he finds me in a disgusting mess of blood and brain matter. Because I know he'll hate me. He'll hate that I ruined myself for him. Every time he thinks of me, he'll see the gigantic fucking hole in my fucking head, and he'll hate me. Because he doesn't hate me now. I've put him through hell, and he still loves me. He loves me. He loves me.'"

Tyler takes the paper again.

Josh says, "'And I love him. And maybe it's optimistic of me to hope he'd take the gun out of my hands and shoot himself, too. We'd be dead together. I love him'—fuck you." Josh pushes his shoulder into Tyler's chest. "What the fuck is this? Why the hell did you write this?"

The paper rips again. In Josh's fist, the corner about their double suicide turns his hand black.

"You weren't supposed to read that."

"It was in your hand when you were sitting under that tree! If you didn't want it found, you wouldn't have let me find it."

"Shut up," Tyler says, scared. He's terrified.

"I can't believe you think I'd go that low and fucking kill myself at the sight of your dead body. Did you think I would have grabbed that knife and slit my own throat when you cut your leg? Just sat next to you and let you bleed out?"

"Shut up."

"I feel like shit, Tyler, yeah. I feel pretty worthless. You tried to kill yourself, but I thought you were getting better. We were doing music together. We started having sex again. Do you know when I found this? If I had known it would have turned into _this_ , I—"

"Shut up!" Tyler covers his face, the scraps of paper fluttering to the floor. "Shut up, shut up—"

"Don't do this. You're—"

"Shut up, shut up—"

"—going to listen to me—"

"—shut up, shut up—"

"—and you're going to talk to me—"

"—shut up, shut up—"

"—because I have no idea what to do."

The dryer kicks off. Josh stares at Tyler. Between his fingers, Tyler stares at Josh. Tears, lips bitten to pieces, Josh and Tyler look at each other and do not much else.

Josh moves first. He picks up the jeans from the floor, where they had dropped during the commotion. They go in the washer, as does the rest of the dirty clothes Josh was in the middle of sorting. The paper was sticking from the back pocket. He wishes he hadn't seen it. This wouldn't have happened if he washed the note and essentially removed all evidence of Tyler's failed attempt at a suicide.

Tyler hasn't left the room, despite the tension begging him to depart. "Josh," he whispers, hands now together, palm to palm. If Tyler drops to his knees, Josh will lose it.

Thankfully Tyler doesn't. He repeats, "Josh," and takes a cautious step forward. "I'm sorry."

Josh pretends he doesn't hear. Only then does Tyler leave the room.

*

"You don't have to feel like shit," Tyler says, in the bed next to Josh. Josh's eyes are closed, yet they had been open when Tyler walked in and turned into the bathroom to shower. Does Tyler think he's sleeping? Josh doesn't show any indication he's heard Tyler.

"You don't have to feel like shit," Tyler says. It breaks off at the end. Tyler sniffs and rubs at his eyes. "You should never feel like shit. Josh, you're so good. You don't have to feel like shit."

Tyler lies down and falls asleep.

*

"Do you want to perform with me tonight?" Tyler asks. "Jenna said she'll pay me double since it's July Fourth."

"I guess."

If there's one thing that can make Josh feel alive, it's music.

*

Josh's head hurts. He's downstairs, hands tight and knuckles white as he grips the back of a dining chair. Tyler is upstairs. This is a normal scene, but for once, Tyler isn't in the spare bedroom. The spare bedroom has had no visitors in weeks.

Tyler sits on the sofa and plays video games. Occasionally he'd be in their bedroom and play his games in there. And other times, Tyler would be on his laptop, earbuds in, listening to music or watching a movie. Josh would wiggle his way under the covers and unplug the earbuds to watch or listen with Tyler. It should be annoying; ripping out earbuds is annoying. But Tyler is never annoyed. He angles his laptop toward Josh and says not a word.

Since the incident in the laundry room, their actions are always second guessed by themselves. No one should be second guessing themself when they're with their significant other. Even simply asking Tyler for a wrist massage brings Josh to a halt.

Josh's head hurts. He lets go of the dining chair and makes sure his shoes are properly tied this time. The stairs groan as he saunters up them.

As expected, Tyler is on the bed, perched at the end. He's playing a _Mario_ game—not _Mario Kart_. That's their game, the only acceptable mode multiplayer. Tyler is in his boxer briefs, a pillow tossed over his lap to cushion his elbows. Controller creaking from use, Tyler's tongue is poking from the corner of his mouth.

Josh watches Tyler. "I can't do this anymore," he says.

"What?"

"Bye, Tyler." Josh goes downstairs.

Still in the bedroom, Tyler is shouting for him. "Hey, hey, hey, Josh."

"I'm going for a walk," he says.

"Josh!"

"I'm going for a walk!"

Josh runs. He doesn't have a destination this time. He isn't running to Tyler, isn't running to save Tyler. He's running.

He's running.

Tyler is running, too, but he's far behind, having to pull on clothes before leaving the apartment. "Josh!" His voice is so far away.

Josh runs. His chest hurts. His head hurts. His feet slap against the sidewalk. It's so loud. It's like gunshots.

"Josh!"

Josh doesn't feel real. Floating, on clouds, Josh thinks he's in a dream. Tyler is screaming for him. "Josh, _Josh_!"

Cars pass. Stars blink and hide, streetlamps of the night. Josh can't breathe.

"Josh!"

Bright lights, cracks, scrapes, and Josh realizes he's fallen, he's rolling, rolling, a somersault. He lands in grass, a heavy weight on top of him, around him, squeezing him. It's hard to breathe. He can't breathe. Bright lights, all he can see is bright lights.

"Breathe in, breathe out," Tyler's voice is in his ear. "Josh, please. Please."

The fabric over Josh's knees is torn, the skin beneath them torn, as well. His knees are bleeding—the heels of his hands, too, where he tried to catch himself when he fell. Pebbles are embedded inside. Josh feels them. He feels sick.

"Josh, talk to me. Are you okay? Please, tell me you're okay."

Tyler isn't in his head. He's right here, behind Josh, arms around Josh's torso. Chest to back, Tyler tackled Josh and made them roll and roll until they are grass stained and bloody. "Tyler?" Josh doesn't recognize his own voice.

"Yeah, it's me. I'm here. I'm here." He squeezes. "Oh, Josh, you're okay. I'm so glad you're okay."

Josh feels woozy. "Tyler…"

"I was so scared. You kept running, and I didn't think I was going to catch up. I could have gone out with you. We could have walked together. We could have walked to the park, and I could have pushed you on the swings. You didn't have to do this."

Another car drives by. Bright lights. Josh's face is sticky with sweat, tears, and blood. "I didn't do anything," he says quietly. "I just ran. I ran."

Tyler stands, arms still around Josh. They're both standing. Tyler is shaking. They're both shaking. "We're going home, okay? I, I, I think… Yeah, you're bleeding. I'm bleeding." Tyler is in front of Josh, his hands never wavering from Josh's torso. "After we get cleaned up, we can go back out and take a walk. Do you want that? What do you want?"

"Never stop holding me."

Josh's head goes in the crook of Tyler's neck. Tyler rubs his back, whispering, cooing. "I won't. I won't. I won't."

*

Tweezers are mandatory to remove the pebbles from Josh's hands. Tyler tries to pry them with thumbnails and teeth, but blood gets everywhere, and Josh says it wasn't sanitary after seeing the tip of Tyler's nose covered in red.

"You're going to get sick," Josh says, as he watches Tyler rinse with mouthwash.

"If anyone's going to get sick, it'll be you. Do you know how many germs the human mouth has?" Tyler washes his face next, scrubbing and stopping once his skin is pink.

Josh closes his eyes.

Tyler drops down, tweezers in hand, and plucks the remaining rocks from Josh's palms. "Are there any in your knees?"

"I can't feel them if there are."

Setting the tweezers on the counter, Tyler reaches forward to tug off Josh's jeans. Josh's toes curl into the tile floor at Tyler's unyielding eyes on his legs. They're calculating, seeing things Josh dreams of seeing. There's nothing incriminating on his legs, no scars, no cuts—just scraped knees. Tyler fetches a washcloth and wets it. He runs it along Josh's knees, the water more cold than warm. It's welcoming.

Josh keeps his head lowered, opening them to periodically wince and cast a scathing look at Tyler. Tyler isn't offended. He's smiling. "You're good. Just skinned them. I'll put some medicine on them, okay? Your hands, too."

"Okay."

Hands and knees wrapped, Josh doesn't want to leave the bed after Tyler helps him to it. "I want to stay in," Josh says, and Tyler nods, understanding completely, an angel. He's an angel.

Due to his rush, the game is still on, the controller tossed to the carpet, a pillow on top of it. Josh tugs the blankets around him, and Tyler sees how long the controller's wire can stretch. Not far. Tyler saves his progress and shuts off the game. "Are you saving enough blankets for me?" Tyler teases.

"You never saved any for me."

Tyler crawls into bed. "I didn't, did I?" he says, after a moment of thinking. He lies down, and Josh shares the blanket. "Thanks."

The television is turned to some late-night crime show. Josh directs his attention to Tyler. Tyler is absorbed, but not by much; as soon as Josh curls into him, Tyler is wrapped up in him. "Come here," Tyler says. "Come closer."

Fingers in his hair, Josh rests his head on Tyler's chest. "Stay here," Tyler murmurs, and wraps his free arm around Josh's shoulders, holding him here, holding him close. "You're okay," he says, lips at the top of Josh's head. "We're okay."

"Sing me a song."

Tyler takes so long to do so Josh fears he had fallen asleep. Then, his fingers begin to stroke the curls at the nape of Josh's neck. "Now… the night… is coming to an end." Josh presses his face into the hollow of Tyler's throat, listening and feeling the vibrations that slide from Tyler's lips. "The sun… will rise… and we will try again."

Josh's eyes are wet. He shuts them.

"Stay alive… stay alive for me."

*

Josh dreams of Tyler flying through the air and landing on his feet. There's no blood and no breakage. Tyler marches and smiles and sings.

He wakes clinging to Tyler. Tyler is clinging to him just as tightly.

*

"Will you drive me somewhere to get hair dye?"

Tyler gravitates toward the unnatural colors. He handles boxes of pink and purple. "What about blue? Your green hair kinda faded to a teal thing." No reply, and Tyler raises his head. "Oh."

Tyler has the colors of the rainbow in his arms, and Josh has the mud at the end of the rainfall. "Is this close?"

"Lemme see." Josh passes over the box. Tyler holds it up to Josh's head, taking a strand of pink with overgrown roots between his fingertips. "Yes."

"Will you dye my hair for me?"

Josh sits on the toilet. Tyler pulls on gloves and works. Downstairs, turned up so they can hear it from here, Christmas music plays.

*

Tyler is in the kitchen when Josh comes home from work. Icing is all over his fingers. "I shouldn't be allowed to do this."

A plate of cinnamon rolls are on the oven, cooling off. More icing is on Tyler's fingers than the pastries. Josh frowns. Tyler giggles. He's wearing that floral kimono with a pair of basketball shorts. Nothing matches. Tyler pokes his fingers at Josh's lips. "Open up."

Josh sucks off all the icing, and then Tyler is on his knees, sucking Josh's cock, and then Tyler is racing upstairs, and then Tyler is leaning on the counter with three of Josh's fingers inside him, and then Tyler is held up by Josh, legs around Josh's hips, bouncing, moaning, grunting. "Shit, shit, _fuck_."

On the floor, they collect themselves. Tyler rolls the sleeve of his kimono to his elbows, smiling, content. "Didn't even get one drop of come on it."

"Just jinxed yourself. Next time, you're gonna blow your load all over it."

"Oh, so there's a next time?" Tyler raises an eyebrow.

"Don't give me that look. You know there's going to be a next time." Josh gestures toward the cinnamon rolls. "Think those are cool enough to eat?"

They clean up with paper towels and pull on their clothes. Back on the floor, they feed each other, icing on their lips and fingers.

*

Sunday morning, Tyler shakes Josh and digs his fingers into Josh's sides. "Wake up!" He laughs. "I want you to come with me."

Josh sticks his head under a pillow. "Where?"

"Church."

"Fuck you, Tyler." Josh flips him off.

Tyler holds Josh's middle finger. "Stop that. We're going. Please."

In the church parking lot, they sit in Tyler's truck and smoke cigarettes. Neither has made a move to leave the vehicle, and Josh knows for certain he won't be the first. This was Tyler's idea, and now Josh is feeling mildly uncomfortable in a button-down shirt in eighty-degree weather.

"Are we waiting for someone?" Josh asks.

"Yes," Tyler says, "and we're going to sit in the back."

Tyler's family. They're waiting to see Tyler's family before they duck inside.

"What if they see us?"

"They won't see us."

They see them.

It's after the service. Tyler is groping at the packet of cigarettes in Josh's back pocket—but he's groping Josh's ass more than the actual cigarettes—when Tyler's mom spots them. "Tyler!" she calls, and forces Tyler to remove his hand.

Josh thinks the last interaction Tyler's had with his mother was him telling her to go to hell. Even today Josh thinks she was sabotaging their relationship, planting thoughts in Tyler's already conflicted mind. She's cheerful, waving at her son, and Tyler sheepishly waves in return. "Hey."

"Didn't expect you to turn up." She touches Tyler's arm.

To Josh's right, he can see Tyler's truck in the distance. They were so close.

"Well, you know. Things happen. Wanted to… praise the Lord in His holy house for a change."

"Oh, my God," Josh whispers.

Tyler's mom doesn't hear. "You should go out to eat with us. Of course Josh can come, too." She laughs.

Josh fakes a smile. "Hm."

"'Fraid we're gonna have'ta decline," Tyler says, linking his arm with Josh's. "Thanks, though. 'Preciate it."

She leaves. Josh says, "I'm actually kinda hungry."

"Taco Bell?"

"Oh, Tyler, you know exactly how to swoon someone off their feet."

Maybe eating tacos while wearing dress shirts was a bad idea. Sauce drips onto Tyler's shirt. "Y'know what, Josh? I don't think I want to go to church anymore."

"Don't have to go," Josh says, and presses his lips together to keep from laughing. "No one really has to go to church."

Tyler dabs at the spot. He makes it worse. "Yeah, I don't need to sit in some pews to keep up my faith. I have everything I need already here." He groans. "Why'd you let me do this, Josh? We could have gone to McDonald's."

"What, so you can get ketchup on yourself instead?"

Tyler drums his fingers along the tabletop. "Fair point."

Before hopping back into the truck, Tyler ditches his shirt in the dumpster behind the restaurant. He runs and leaps into his truck, laughing his head off. There's sweat on his chest and shoulders and a wild look in his eye, and Josh is suddenly glad they decided to have Taco Bell.

*

Brendon texts Josh.

Josh goes into the spare bedroom, the door open, the curtains open. The sun illuminates Tyler as he sits on the carpet, cross-legged, and strums on his ukulele. With a notebook in front of him and a pen behind his ear, he's composing. "Hey, hey," Josh says.

"Hello, hello."

"Are you up to doing a few shows next week?"

"Yes." Tyler grins, then grows somber. "Josh, wait."

"Yeah?"

"If you… if you ever need to talk, or if it gets bad again, I'm here. I should have told you that before. I should have told you a lot of things before. And I didn't. I don't regret what I do most of the time, but I do when it comes to that. I'm sorry, Josh. I'm here for you."

Josh blinks. Don't cry. Dear God, don't cry. "Right back at ya, Tyler."

"Good!" Tyler is all smiles. "Sit here with me. I'm thinking about, like, an acoustic version for this song, and I want your thoughts on it."

*

Right from the start, they decorate the place with rainbow confetti.

It gets in Tyler's hair, and even after the show is long over, Josh finds some still hidden. He sticks his fingers in Tyler's hair as they stand by Brendon's van, and shakes and shakes and ruffles, Tyler laughing, cigarette smoke leaving his mouth. The rainbows in his hair are like snow, and the smoke is a New Year's resolution to make it to their three-year anniversary. He continues to laugh, the exhale of his cigarette puffing out his nostrils. "Stop, stop, stop," he says, but he doesn't want Josh to stop. Josh can read him now, and he snakes his arm around Tyler's waist and takes the cigarette, blowing smoke in Tyler's face in the form of a silent promise to make it to three years, and many more after that.

Tyler dances with flowers on his arms and flowers on his feet. He sings and smiles. Josh's wrists don't hurt, even after a full week of shows.

They stand in the middle of the stage, catching their breaths, an arm slung around each other's shoulders. Brendon might be what the crowd came for, but when Tyler and Josh are up here, they feel pretty damn special.

This time, more people approach them after the shows. Josh isn't as shy as he once was; he greets them, hugs them, and talks to them. Tyler is always by his side—more or less hanging off him. Tyler has made it his personal goal to make, at least, someone uncomfortable with their PDA at every show. Most times, nobody minds, but there are others who scowl when they see Tyler run up to Josh and give him a kiss on the cheek, or when he ogles Josh from his piano and compliments how toned his arms look from here.

"If they didn't know when the rainbow confetti came out, then it's not my fault they're ignorant," Tyler says, and Josh high-fives him, and they end up holding hands. No complaints, really.

Each night, they fall into bed and hook their pinky fingers together. "For better or for worse," Tyler says, and Josh replies, "In sickness and in health," and Tyler continues, "Fuck, I love you so much, man," and Josh kisses Tyler. 

They do this in public, too, after a show, in Brendon's van, in Tyler's truck, in fucking Taco Bell. Tyler just holds up his pinky, and Josh takes it, and they stare at each other and _know_. Strangers may think they're crazy and gross, but they don't care.

They don't care.


End file.
